


Love in a Major Key

by akaparalian



Series: Malec Week 2018 [1]
Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Marching Band, First Dates, Fluff, M/M, Marching Band
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-10
Updated: 2019-02-10
Packaged: 2019-06-07 03:12:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 46,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15209615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/akaparalian/pseuds/akaparalian
Summary: Magnus Bane: colorguard captain, king of glitter, ruiner of Alec Lightwood's entire life.Or at least of his marching season. (Seriously, is a drama-free semester as senior drum major too much to ask?)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to Malec Week 2018!!! For the July 9th prompt of "Sports AU," I went with a marching band AU, because I'm a former band kid myself, so, obviously. (And I don't even want to get into the 'is marching a sport' thing, because if I got PE credit for it, then it's a sport, damn it.)
> 
> I really, really fell in love with this 'verse while writing this, and I already have a bit more written -- not enough to really tack onto this at this point, so I decided to leave it off for now, and I'm not _promising_ I'll continue it, but we'll see, especially if y'all enjoy it!
> 
> As a quick primer for those who might not be as intimately acquainted with the ins-and-outs of US high school marching band as me: Alec is the drum major, which is a student leadership position in the band. Basically, he actually conducts the band on the field, rather than playing/marching. And Magnus is the guard captain, which is the student head of the colorguard (i.e. [crazy talented flag people](https://i.pinimg.com/originals/b5/3b/8e/b53b8e62b124b556c3be92b5b9bc45f0.jpg); guard is a major part of the visual component of marching shows, and involves not just flags but also mock-weapons like sabres and rifles. It's a bit like dance). 
> 
> Also, the tuba sex couch is a very real thing from my own high school days. The tuba practice room was really just a den of sin; they also hotboxed in there a LOT, and the band directors pretended not to notice. Ah, low brass.

“So,” Izzy says, thumping her bag down next to him. “Is it true?”

Alec can’t quite look her in the eyes. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says, which is an enormous, glaring lie, because his life really isn’t interesting enough to contain multiple events that his sister would have heard about from anyone but him. His heart is racing under his shirt, and he’s long suspected that Isabelle can smell fear, but he’s still valiantly trying to pretend. 

All he gets in return is a pointed eyeroll as she throws herself down onto the couch opposite him, kicking her feet up on the coffee table. And because he’s a smart man, and he’s known his sister for literally his entire life and thus knows when he’s beaten, Alec puts down his calc homework and sighs. 

“I don’t know exactly what you’ve heard happened, so I don’t _know_ if it’s true,” he hedges, and Izzy’s eyes light up in a way that’s positively evil, if you ask him. Or even if you don’t. “Stop it, that face makes you look evil.”

She ignores him in favor of shifting so that her feet are on the floor again, leaning forward with her elbows on her knees, a wicked grin curving across her bright red lips. “But you admit that _something_ happened!”

“Iz,” he complains, sure that his face is as red as her lipstick by now. 

“I don’t know why you’re even bothering to try and hide it, you know Magnus tells me everything anyway.” 

She’s right, unfortunately — or he suspects she is, at least — and that’s part of what Alec is _worried_ about. He bites his lip, debating whether telling Izzy _something_ is damage control, or whether it’ll just make things way, way worse. 

But dammit, there’s been a whole flotilla of butterflies taking up space in his abdomen ever since last night, and if there’s one person he can think of to go to for advice about… this kind of stuff, it’s Isabelle. 

Jace, after all, would probably just tell him to “hit that” — which is fine and everything, except that Alec is _trying._

So, against at least half of his better judgement, he carefully says, “We — we kind of… made out in one of the practice rooms?”

He can’t quite meet Izzy’s eyes, but she isn’t _saying_ anything, the air between them hanging thick and heavy with silence. 

“What?” he snaps eventually, glaring a hole into the carpet, and apparently it shakes Izzy out of whatever weird trance she was in. 

“ _I just heard that he asked you out!”_ she eventually shrieks, and the sound of it is so loud and unexpected that Alec can’t _help_ but look at her now. Her eyes are practically bugging out of her skull, and her grin can really only be described as shit-eating. “Alec, oh my god!”

“Good to know gossip doesn’t spread _that_ fast,” Alec grumbles. 

“No, this is amazing, I’m so proud of you!” He doesn’t have time to explain that she really, _stupendously_ does not need to be proud of him before she’s barreling on ahead. “Wait, which practice room?”

Oh, god, here it comes. He winces, bites his lip, but can’t really stop himself from saying, “...tuba?”

“You mean the one with the SEX COUCH?” Izzy yells, and at this point her voice is so high-pitched Alec’s starting to worry they’re going to have every dog in the neighborhood bursting through the door. “You mean that you, my sweet, repressed brother, finally made out with a boy, and it was _Magnus_ , and you did it on the _tuba sex couch?!”_

“I didn’t — how do you know I haven’t made out with anyone before?” he mutters, pinching his nose and flopping back into the couch, but it sounds weak even to his own ears. Izzy certainly doesn’t dignify it with a response. He sighs, and instead says, “Yes, I did. We did. Uh — not, like, _we did,_ we did. But we. Um. Made out. You know.”

“Oh my god, you made out with Magnus Bane on the tuba sex couch and it broke you,” Izzy says gleefully. “You are _so_ lucky I’m a good sister and I’m not putting this on Snapchat.”

“Small mercies,” Alec grumbles, and really, really wishes he were still just doing his calculus homework. 

—

Izzy really _is_ a good sister, though, because when Alec slumps into the band hall the next morning, Jace is only grinning at him with what he estimates is about half as much glee as he would have if he knew Alec and Magnus had almost gotten it on in the tuba practice room after rehearsal yesterday. He’s plopped himself directly in the middle of the band hall, front and center, for his morning practice session, not bothering to hide himself away in one of the practice rooms — but Jace treating this room like it’s his own personal kingdom is nothing new. 

“Heard you’ve got a hot date,” he says, smirking and setting down his trumpet, and Alec sighs, rolls his eyes, and resigns himself to his new fate. 

“I swear to god this whole fucking building is bugged,” he mutters, setting his case down on the chair next to Jace’s and reaching over his shoulder to rifle through his backpack in search of his music folder. “That’s the only way everyone else could possibly know about this practically as soon as _I_ knew about it.”

Jace laughs directly into his face. “Nah, man, that’s just ‘cause he’s in guard,” he says, and Alec reluctantly has to concede that point. Or, at least, he would, if Jace didn’t go on to say, “That’s the price you pay for dating someone that flexible. Well, that, and probably glitter on your dick.”

“ _Jace_ ,” he hisses, feeling his face light up like a Christmas tree. Alec is pretty sure he’s blushed more in the past 24 hours than he has in the previous 17 years of his life, combined. 

_Magnus didn’t seem to mind, though,_ a small voice in his mind supplies unhelpfully, and he has to violently slam that mental door closed before he can get too far down the road to thinking about the previous evening, because if there’s anything he really, _really_ doesn’t need right now, it’s popping an awkward boner next to his best friend at 7 o’clock in the morning. And if there’s anything on this good Earth that’s practically guaranteed to get him hard, it’s remembering what Magnus had looked like perched over him, rolling his hips down just so, his eyes glittering in the low light as he leaned down to mouth at Alec’s throat, and —

Alec swallows hard and pinches himself viciously in the thigh, where Jace hopefully can’t see. Right. _Not_ thinking about that. 

He and Jace get in about half an hour of practice before other people really start to trickle in. That’s pretty typical; one of the directors usually shows up to unlock the band hall around 7:00, but classes don’t start until 8:30, so Jace and Alec, by virtue of being the first ones in the door, usually get at least 30 minutes to themselves. And while Alec usually prefers the relative privacy of the practice rooms — _don’t think about Magnus,_ he chants in his head, _don’t think about Magnus_ — playing with Jace usually means playing out in the open, and after all these years he finds he really doesn’t mind anymore.

They’re not playing anything all that exciting — just a few exercises, and then Alec challenges Jace to a head-to-head duel of the region band audition music becuase it’s never too early, but mostly it’s just dicking around, this morning. If there’s one thing Alec is finding hard about being drum major, it’s keeping his chops up during marching season, now that he doesn’t play as regularly.

That, and now it’s bound to be even _juicier_ gossip that he’s just been asked out by the guard captain. But he’s not supposed to be thinking about that right now.

It’s not that he regrets or resents being made drum major; it’s literally the proudest he’s ever felt of himself. He’s wanted this since he first joined band back in the sixth fucking grade, for god’s sake. There is nothing, _nothing_ , that compares to what it’d felt like when he first got up on his tower and saw the whole band looking up at him and felt the drum line start to tap off a beat. Not even certain things he’s trying not to think about — well, probably not, anyway.

But there are definitely drawbacks, too, and spending every rehearsal waving his hands instead of playing his horn is one of them. He still plays during class, most of the time, and obviously he practices on his own, but it’s really these early-morning sessions with Jace that he’s counting on to keep himself from slipping. If there’s one thing Jace is good at, it’s pushing him. That’s just the way it’s always been; they’ve been trading the first chair position back and forth since middle school.

They keep playing even as the band hall slowly begins to fill up, other students slipping in to get in their own morning practice or drop their instruments off in their lockers or just hang around and chat. Right in the middle of playing his way through a tricky run, Alec distinctly sees one of the freshman guard girls point at him and then unsubtly whisper something to the guy next to her, who busts out with a loud “With _him?_ Really?!”

He doesn’t flub the run, but only barely, and he _does_ feel his face heat up. He sets his trumpet down with a sigh, even as Jace seamlessly moves into another exercise. Typical. 

“Don’t mind them,” a voice purrs in his ear, and Alec jumps about a foot in the air. “They don’t know half as much as they think they do.”

“ _Magnus_!” Alec chokes out, spinning around in his seat and almost sending his horn flying. “You scared the shit out of me!”

How Magnus managed to sneak into the band hall without Alec noticing, he has no idea, because Magnus is wearing an outfit that, while pretty typical for him, stands out like a beacon: a tight, sparkly gold shirt, and jeans that leave absolutely _nothing_ to the imagination, and a black velvet choker, and —

Oh.

_Oh god._

Magnus isn’t saying anything; he’s just grinning wolfishly, watching Alec stare at his neck with his mouth hanging open. Or, more specifically, watching Alec stare at the _hickey_ on his neck, which is a dark red-purple, and unmistakable, and approximately the size of China. 

“Oh fuck,” Alec all but squeaks out, and Magnus, the asshole, bursts out laughing.

“Oh, Alexander, you should see your _face_ ,” he snickers, as Alec struggles to breathe. “I thought about covering it up, but god, now I’m so glad I didn’t. This might be even better than getting it in the first place.” He pauses for a moment, considering. “No, that’s a lie. A complete lie. This is pretty good, though.”

“Really?” asks Jace, who has stopped playing in favor of looking like Christmas and his next seven birthdays have arrived early and all at once. He, too, is eyeing the mark on Magnus’ neck, at least before he turns back to Alec. “Damn, bro, I didn’t know you were a vampire.”

Alec just groans and does his best to ignore him, to focus on Magnus. “I am so sorry.”

“ _Darling_.” Magnus sounds positively charmed. “Don’t be. I certainly enjoyed it — and I think you did, too, as I recall,” he adds with a smirk.

“TMI!” Jace protests, but they both ignore him.

Now that Magnus is _here_ , in front of him, there’s no way Alec could think about anything else. He glances around the band hall for just a minute — it’s nearly full now, people hanging around talking or rehearsing or doing homework or whatever, and there are more than a few eyes trained on him with varying degrees of subtlety. Which is why he has to take a deep, steadying breath before he reaches up to reel Magnus in by a fistful of his stupid gold shirt.

The kiss Alec presses to his lips is soft, and chaste, especially compared to what they were getting up to yesterday, but he hears at least one person shriek anyway. He and Magnus are both breathless when they pull away.

“I’ll see you Friday, right?” Alec asks, knowing full well that Jace is probably filming this but unable to tear his eyes away from Magnus anyway.

“Friday,” Magnus promises, and shoots him a brilliant smile.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alec panics. Izzy comes to the rescue. Magnus is unfashionably early.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, as promised, I'm back with more of this! Yay! Thank you guys so much for the warm response to the first part, and the encouragement for me to continue this fic. It really means the world, and I hope you continue to enjoy it. ♥
> 
> The plan at present is to update with chapters roughly as long as this one (though, knowing me, I'm sure they'll get longer in time) every Sunday. I've got a rough map of where this story is going, but not concrete enough yet to hazard a guess at exactly how many chapters this will be. I'll keep you guys posted, though! 
> 
> Enjoy! And if you're so inclined, come find me on [Tumblr](http://floralegia.tumblr.com) or [Twitter!](http://twitter.com/akaparalian)

Time seems to rush and drag all at once, until suddenly it’s Friday afternoon and Alec is staring into his closet, trying not to panic.

It’s rare enough to have a free Friday in the fall, but Magnus timed this well; they have a Saturday football game, meaning the six hours of Friday evening that Alec would usually spend in a stadium leading the band through a selection of pop hits and classic stadium tunes are free. And since marching competition season doesn’t really start for another couple of weeks, he doesn’t have to worry about rushing from a show to a game tomorrow, either.

No, instead he just has to worry about the fact that he’s pretty sure he’s going to show up to his date with Magnus, who dresses like he just stepped out of a fashion magazine to go to _school_ , let alone to go out, looking like… Well, looking like himself, which is to say: boring, and in clothes that probably barely fit when he bought them, and definitely don’t anymore.

He gives up on hoping a nice outfit will spontaneously materialize in front of him and flops backwards in his bed with a sigh. Maybe this whole thing is a mistake. Maybe it was so dark in the practice room that Magnus hadn’t really been able to see who he was kissing, and now he’s just too polite to tell Alec to buzz off and is trying to let him down gently. Maybe this is some kind of set-up. Maybe —

There’s a knock on the door, and an instant later Isabelle barges in. “You’re not wearing _that_ , are you?” she asks, looking dubiously at the jeans and worn-out gray hoodie that Alec had worn to school that day.

“What’s the point of knocking if you’re just going to come in anyway?” Alec asks, instead of answering her question. When she just arches a brow and stares at him, hand propped against her hip, he groans and relents. “And no. At least, I hope not.”

She grins in a way that’s both terrifying and strangely comforting and pulls a shopping bag out from behind her back. Huh. Maybe Alec shouldn’t have given up on the idea of an outfit just materializing quite so easily.

“Do you trust me?” Isabelle asks, shutting the door behind her with a snap and starting to dig through the bag. The crinkling sound of tissue paper, along with the fact that Alec doesn’t recognize the logo on the shiny black bag, tells him that these clothes are probably about ten times nicer than anything else he owns. Izzy always _has_ been the only one in their family with any real fashion sense.

“Iz, you didn’t have to do this,” Alec protests guiltily.

Izzy waves him off, flapping a piece of dark fabric through the air. “Not what I asked. Besides, I wanted to. This is literally the only date you’ve ever been on, you think I wasn’t gonna make sure you look your best? Magnus may be crazy about you, but that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t be trying to make him even crazier. Now,” she says sharply, holding out a bundle of fabric. “Do you trust me?”

Alec doesn’t quite answer, but he takes the clothes, which seems to satisfy her, because she moves to start rooting for the shoes that are piled at the bottom of his closet.

He unpacks and examines the bundle in his hands somewhat warily. There’s nothing too flashy, thank god; Izzy knows him better than that, and she may be pushy and have no real sense of privacy sometimes, especially when it comes to his (up until now entirely lacking) love life, but she knows to respect his boundaries where it counts. She’s given him a pair of dark-wash jeans, which he can already tell just by looking at them are going to fit like a second skin, and a cobalt blue button-down patterned with tiny white stars. She tosses his least-ratty pair of sneakers — gray Vans, which, actually, were also a gift from Isabelle, come to think of it — at him, too, and Alec has to somewhat reluctantly admit that he might actually end up looking kind of nice, assuming he manages to successfully squeeze himself into these jeans.

“Thanks,” he says. It comes out quieter than he means it too, and smaller, but it’s Izzy, so he doesn’t really feel too embarrassed by it. “Seriously. You really didn’t have to do this, but thank you. I… may have been starting to spiral a little bit.”

Izzy comes to sit next to him on the bed, smiling affectionately, and lays one red-manicured hand on his arm, squeezing his wrist. “I knew you would be. And I know I didn’t _have_ to do anything, but you’re my brother and Magnus is my friend. He’s super into you, and I _know_ you’ve had a thing for him for, like, three years. I… I want this to go well. For both of you.” She squeezes his wrist again. “So I’ll help however I can.”

Alec doesn’t even want to know how she knows how long he’s been crushing on Magnus. He’s been as subtle as he thinks he can reasonably be expected to have been, given that since he started high school, he’s spent a good deal of time every week around Magnus when he’s wearing impossibly tiny athletic shorts (at rehearsals; the colorguard has a “sky’s out, thighs out” policy) and/or spandex (at performances; last year’s marching show had involved a guard costume that was all in black and gold, and the color scheme had suited Magnus so well it was fucking criminal). 

But there _is_ something in Izzy’s declaration of support that he definitely wants to know more about.

He bites his lip, then bites the bullet. “You really think he’s that into me?”

Isabelle stares at him in dead silence for so long he starts to wonder if she even heard him, then starts to pray that she didn’t. And then she rolls her eyes, heaves an enormous, put-upon sort of sigh, and smacks him hard on the shoulder.

“ _Ow!”_

“Alec,” she says in a tone of voice that implies that he is adorable and she loves him very much but she also thinks he’s kind of an idiot sometimes, which Alec doesn’t really need implied because he already knows it’s true. “He made out with you on the tuba sex couch.”

She says this as though it’s a complete answer. It very much isn’t. 

“Yes?” Alec says, baffled. “That is explicitly a place where people go to make out, Iz.”

“Exactly!” she exclaims. “Which means it’s super gross and full of diseases, and Magnus is neither of those things. Magnus is classy as fuck. He would only go after you in a place like that if he was _so_ into you that he couldn’t help himself.”

This is very dubious logic, in Alec’s opinion, but Izzy seems very convinced. Alec doesn’t even know where to start; he opens and closes his mouth several times, but nothing happens.

“Besides, I read it in his diary,” Isabelle adds sagely.

“Magnus keeps a _diary_?”

“No,” she admits, after a long second in which Alec develops a very clear mental image of a glittery silver diary, in which he imagines Magnus writing with a peacock-feather pen or something equally ostentatious and beautiful and charming. “Well, not that I know of. But if he did, it would totally be full of little hearts that said ‘Magnus Lightwood.’”

That’s when Alec finally understands what’s going on here. Namely: his sister has lost her fucking mind.

“Okay,” he says, trying to pretend his heart isn’t thumping just that little harder after this whole conversation. “Thanks for the clothes, you are seriously a life-saver, but he’s gonna be here in half an hour, so I’ve gotta —”

“Go, go,” Izzy says, standing up and grinning at him slyly. “And tell him that for my money, I think you should hyphenate. ‘Lightwood-Bane’ has a really nice ring to it.”

Alec’s not touching _that_ with a ten-foot pole, but luckily, she’s out the door before he would have gotten a chance anyway. That leaves him with nothing to do but sigh and start shucking off his old clothes to replace them with the new ones.

He practically has to grease himself to get into the jeans, but they _do_ look, frankly, amazing. Izzy may have gone around the bend, but she knows what she’s doing when it comes to clothes. The fact that she knows his sizing this well, he thinks as he shrugs into the shirt and starts to do up the buttons, is maybe a little worrying — everything fits like it was _made_ for him; maybe she’s some kind of clothes wizard? — but at the moment he’s just stupidly grateful.

He glances quickly at the clock after slipping into his shoes — still twenty minutes before Magnus is due to come pick him up — and debates trying to do something to his hair. On the one hand, he probably should. On the other, he doesn’t really know _how_ , and there’s no way he’s going to Izzy for advice _again_ after she’s already saved his ass once today and then left. So he crosses to his bathroom, looks himself over critically, and settles for combing his hair and then running his hands through it a couple of times so it’s not _too_ neat. After a half-second of hesitation, and feeling a little silly even while trying not to second-guess himself, he puts on a splash of cologne, too. It’s a date, right? That seems like a date thing to do.

And then, finally, after grabbing his jacket and checking to make sure he has his wallet and phone, he’s forced to admit defeat and go down to the living room to wait.

Magnus still isn’t supposed to be here for another fifteen minutes, so Alec feels kind of silly sitting on the couch, making sure he maintains a clear line of sight to the front door and constantly on edge for a car door slamming or the chime of the doorbell. But he can’t focus on anything else; he tries, briefly, to distract himself with his phone, and gives it up as useless after about thirty seconds. Izzy, at least, is mercifully absent, and judging by the distant sound of video-game gunfire, Max is down in the basement with his XBox. There’s no one around to witness Alec staring intensely at the door like he thinks it’s going to suddenly spring to life and start attacking people. Though then he has to snort, because _that_ mental image is — 

The doorbell rings.

Alec yelps, unable to control it, and glances down at his phone in terror. Magnus is _ten minutes early_ (and shit, has he only been down here waiting for five? It felt like an hour). Is that normal? Should he have expected that? _Why didn’t someone warn him?_

As the echoes of the doorbell die out, though, he realizes that he can panic later and springs to his feet, all the nerves he’s been half-repressing suddenly hitting him at once. _Fuck_ , he thinks as he walks to the door, wiping his suddenly-sweaty palms on his jeans. He had thought he’d get a little more time to psych himself up, to convince himself Magnus wasn’t coming so that he could focus on just being relieved and not anxious when he actually did, to… to do _something_ other than hesitate for half a second before pulling the door open.

“I’m so sorry,” Magnus blurts instantly, before Alec has the chance to do anything but blink at him standing there and feel his breath hitch. “I know it’s probably weird to be early, and normally I aim for fashionably late, but I just couldn’t — oh,” he interrupts himself, looking Alec over in a slow, deliberate way that makes Alec’s face burn. “Oh, Alexander, you look stunning.”

Alec chokes on thin air, staring at Magnus’ deep red v-neck, his piles of necklaces, his black jeans which are somehow even tighter than Alec’s, by the look of them.

“I’m pretty sure you’re thinking of yourself,” he says stupidly, not sure where to look, because _all_ of it makes his brain melt, from Magnus’ dark-rimmed eyes and glossy lips to his weirdly shiny shoes.

Damn, he should _not_ be this intrigued by those shoes. That’s just weird.

Magnus offers him a smile that’s almost shy, as though he’s taken aback, which luckily fades into a more playful one before it can stop Alec’s heart forever.

“Come on,” he says. “If you’re ready to go, I believe I promised you dinner.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A diner dinner date.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alternate chapter summary: In which John Mulaney crashes Magnus and Alec's first date and they're too lost in their own world to even notice.
> 
> I've finished the outline for this fic! At present it looks like we're looking at 34 chapters and an epilogue. The only reason I really see that changing is if at some point a chapter gets too long and I decide to split it. Which is very, very possible. *shrug* My overall goal is to finish and/or get sufficiently ahead to the point where I can switch to updating twice a week, but for now I'm definitely sticking to weekly.
> 
> Band lingo for this chapter:   
> 1) A chair test is used to determine basically the ranking of players within a section (so, the trumpet section, for instance). The 'first chair' musician is top dog, and usually/often, but not always, coincides with being the section leader.   
> 2) A typical marching band show is organized into three or four movements. There may or may not be an intro, which is typically much shorter than the other three movements if it's there at all, and then there's the opener, ballad, and closer. None of those really have defined 'styles,' but it is somewhat typical for the ballad, as the name implies, to be the slowest/most mellow movement.
> 
> Enjoy!!

Magnus had been cagey about exactly where he wanted to take Alec back when he’d initially asked, insisting that he wanted it to be a surprise — though promising, at Alec’s repeated questioning, that it wouldn’t be anywhere too formal or fancy — and he’s still being cagey _now_ , even though they are literally in his car on their way there.

“Yeah, well, I thought about blindfolding you for the drive to really keep the element of surprise, but then I thought that that seemed more like third-date material,” he’s saying as he drives, and if Alec’s fucking traitorous brain weren’t so busy supplying him with mental images of _all_ the contexts in which he’d let Magnus blindfold him, he might notice that what Manus is doing might be qualified as babbling. 

When the stream of chatter slips to the relative merits of silk versus cotton blindfolds, he _does_ realize it, which abruptly leads to another realization: Magnus is _nervous_. About going on a date with _him_.

The idea is so ridiculous that he almost dismisses it out of hand, but Magnus keeps glancing over at him like he doesn’t want to get caught doing it, quick peeks before going back to trying to pretend that he’s entirely focused on the road — which might be less telling if Alec weren’t doing the exact same thing.

_Huh_ , he thinks, and feels some of the anxiety in his stomach begin to unknot.

It turns out that a blindfold would have been completely unnecessary anyway, because Alec doesn’t recognize the restaurant Magnus pulls into at all, or even the part of town they’re in. It’s a low-slung building; by far the most notable physical feature is the shiny chrome exterior. The sign says Rita’s, which doesn’t tell Alec a lot about what kind of food it is, but somehow makes him feel that much more confident that he’s not underdressed or something.

Magnus is out of the driver’s seat and around to the other side to open the door for him practically before the car stops moving, and definitely before Alec has time to do anything beyond unbuckling his seatbelt. Maybe it should feel kind of demeaning or emasculating or something — he knows a lot of guys who he thinks would feel demeaned. But those guys are idiots, he thinks, and generally jerks; for his money, Alec finds it unbearably charming, especially when Magnus shoots him a devilish smile and offers his hand to help him out of the car.

His hand is warm and steady and sure, even when it takes Alec an embarrassingly long time to unfold his long legs and lever himself out of the low-slung, slightly sporty car. 

“Thanks,” he says once he’s finally standing, and his voice only shakes a little over the fact that Magnus hasn’t dropped his hand, the smooth bastard.

“But of course,” Magnus replies, and Alec just barely catches sight of the edges of his rakish smile softening before he turns to lead the way to the restaurant.

Rita’s turns out to be a diner — and not just ‘a diner’ in the sense that it is a restaurant which serves diner food, but _a diner_ , resplendent with checkerboard flooring and ‘50s paraphernalia and an appropriate amount of neon. There’s an honest-to-god jukebox in the corner, into which, as Alec watches, a kid shoves a quarter; ‘What’s New Pussycat?’ immediately starts up over the speakers. The hustle and bustle, the commitment to aesthetics and theme, the playful atmosphere — this place, he decides, is _very_ Magnus.

A waitress ducks out of the kitchen to greet them; Alec half-expects her to be on roller skates, then realizes that that would be a little ridiculous, them being indoors and all. When she sees Magnus, she grins and says, “Hey, kid! Sit wherever you want, I’ll be right there.”

She can’t be more than a couple of years older than them, but Magnus doesn’t seem to mind being called ‘kid’ anyway. “Thanks, Kaelie,” he says, and leads Alec over to a booth in the far corner, on the opposite side of the room from the jukebox, where the same kid is still feeding in quarter after quarter, queueing up songs. The seat is glittery red vinyl, and it drags across Alec’s pants as he slides into the booth. Magnus slides right in on the other side, their feet tangling under the table as they get situated. Alec acutely feels his face heat up, but when he glances at Magnus from under his lashes, he realizes he’s not the only one looking a little flushed. 

“So,” Alec says, incredibly proud of how even his voice is. “You — you come here a lot, then?”

Magnus grins at him. “I think the phrase you’re looking for is ‘Come here often?’, darling.”

Oh, damn, there goes that blush again. “No, I just meant — it seemed like the waitress knew you, and —”

“I do come here a lot, yes,” Magnus interrupts, taking pity on him with a little chuckle. “Me and the whole guard usually come here after competitions, actually. Band competitions _and_ winter guard. So poor Kaelie sees a lot of me.”

Alec very, very manfully holds back from blurting out how seeing a lot of Magnus would be the furthest thing from a hardship, but it is a near miss.

“So what’s good, then?” he asks, wishing he had a menu to look over so that he’d have something to do with his eyes other than stare at Magnus is what he’s sure is an increasingly creepy fashion. He just can’t _help_ it. Magnus looks — Alec doesn’t even have the words. He looks like a dream, even though he’s a little more casual than Alec is used to seeing him. Or maybe that’s _why_ he’s hitting Alec so hard right now.

“Oh, pretty much everything,” Magnus replies airily. “Oooh, but we have to make sure we get a milkshake. We can split one, if you want?”

Alec could definitely go for his own milkshake, but if Magnus wants to split one, he’s not going to fight it. Then he pictures them doing that stereotypical ‘50s movie one-milkshake-two-straws thing and feels like he’s melted into a puddle just at the thought, so he’s _definitely_ not going to fight it.

Luckily, Kaelie the waitress shows up just in time to save him from falling victim to his own embarrassingly cute mental images. “So,” she says brightly as she slides two menus onto the table, glancing between Alec and Magnus speculatively and then smirking a little bit at Magnus, one eyebrow raised. “What can I get you boys started with?”

“Water,” Alec says.

“Water,” Magnus echoes, “and an Oreo milkshake. Two straws.”

It’s only once Kaelie is walking away, not bothering to scribble their simple orders in her notepad, that Magnus seems to realize exactly what he just did.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry, I didn’t even ask — is Oreo okay?” he says sheepishly. Alec can’t help but grin, feeling something light and fluttering take flight under his breastbone. 

“Oreo’s fine,” he says. “ _Whatever’s_ fine, really, as long as it’s not peanut butter.”

“Not a fan of peanut butter?” 

“Not in milkshakes, anyway. See, this one time, Izzy —”

And just like that, they fall into an easy conversation that rambles back and forth as they swap silly anecdotes and random thoughts and laugh at each other. Alec feels an almost giddy sense of relief. He’d known going into this that he likes Magnus, obviously, and they’ve always gotten along just fine in their many years of crossing paths at band rehearsals or when Alec has to drop Izzy off at Science Olympiad and Magnus is there or just passing in the hallways at school, but up until right now, with it happening in real time in front of him, he hadn’t been one hundred percent sure they’d be able to go on this date without it being horribly awkward. They’re pretty different people, aren’t they? Magnus is so vibrant and colorful, not just in terms of his wardrobe but in terms of how he _is_ , and Alec… Alec has never thought of himself that way.

But as Kaelie drops off their drinks and their milkshake, and Magnus laughs at his stupid story about Jace breaking a pencil clean in half in ninth grade after failing a chair test, and they both lean forward at once to take a sip from the shake, their foreheads nearly brushing, Alec feels all but light-headed with the thought that this is really, really working. It’s _good_. Magnus is grinning and flushing just a little, high in his cheekbones, as he leans back in the booth, and that’s because of _him_.

He understands now exactly what people mean when they talk about being on cloud nine. He feels like he’s at risk of floating up into the stratosphere.

They order food, and the conversation starts to flow to band. By the time they have their dinner in front of them — a patty melt for Alec, and some sort of fried mac and cheese thing for Magnus that Alec is instantly jealous of — they’re neck deep in a discussion of the finer points of this year’s marching show.

“I’m just glad Herondale didn’t go for a straight-up Dante’s Inferno thing,” Magnus says before taking a sip of his drink. “That’s _so_ overdone. At least she shook it up a _little_.”

Alec hums through a bite of food, and waits until he’s swallowed to answer. “Yeah, but I wonder how many judges are gonna see the difference.”

Magnus rolls his eyes, nodding in agreement, but then shrugs. “We don’t get points deducted for being unoriginal, either way. Though I kinda do wish that was a thing. Might push the envelope a little, you know?”

“Mm,” Alec hums, teasing. “Well, you are _all_ about pushing the envelope.”

He blushes as soon as he realizes what he’s said — apparently being this happy ruins his brain-to-mouth filter? — but Magnus tips back his head and laughs.

“You know it,” he agrees, still half-cackling. “God, if they let _me_ design the show…” He trails off with a dreamy look on his face.

Alec squints at him, considering.

“Why do you look like you just bit a lemon?” Magnus asks, amused, before taking a bite of his food.

“I’m trying to decide how much glitter you’d get on the field,” Alec admits with a small grin.

Magnus just smirks. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

Alec snorts, then hums, lost in thought for a moment. “What _would_ you do, if they let you design a show?” he asks eventually. When Magnus just blinks at him, he adds a little shyly, “I’m going to go out on a limb and say you’ve thought about it.”

“You’d be right,” Magnus concedes, with a tilt of his head and a magnanimous little hand-wave. “I have. Extensively, in fact. At length.”

“So what would it be?” Alec prods, when he doesn’t immediately continue. Then he backpedals: “If, uh, if you don’t mind telling me, I mean.”

“No, no, of course I don’t _mind_ ,” Magnus reassures him, splaying his hands out in a soothing gesture, “I just… haven’t ever actually told anyone before.”

Alec nods, hoping it’s not desperately obviously how much that makes his heart flutter, how affected he is to hear that this is something Magnus has never shared with anyone, but is willing to give to him.

“The overall theme would be… art as transformation, I guess, and freedom,” Magnus says eventually. “Rainbow watercolor silks for the guard, first of all. Red, orange and yellow for the intro; blue, green and purple for the ballad; and full-spectrum for the closer.”

“Of course that’s the first part you’d think about,” Alec says, laughing a little. “What about the music?”

“I’m getting there!” Magnus scolds with a laugh, reaching across the table to smack him on the arm. “I mean, I haven’t really picked out specific pieces; I’m more about the visuals. But an airy, fun opener, and then the ballad is more bittersweet, and about growth and all the ways that’s difficult, and the ways art in all its forms can help.”

Alec nods. He can see it; he can even kind of hear it, though no particular piece comes to mind. “And the closer?”

“Ugh, well, there’s this one piece I’ve always wanted to spin to, called ‘I giorni,’ but it’s a piano piece,” Magnus admits, wrinkling his nose. “But in my head, I hear that. Just — you know, _band_.”

“Just band,” Alec echoes very seriously. “Got it.”

“Don’t mock me, Alexander,” Magnus tuts, waving his fork across the table threateningly, “or I might not buy you pie.”

Alec is on high alert immediately. “There’s pie?”

There is indeed pie, and it is fabulous. Alec would feel a little bad about being so excited about the food on a date, but it’s not like he’s not _also_ really excited about the company, and Magnus is right there with him, and besides: both his strawberry rhubarb and Magnus’ chocolate silk pie are positively sinful. There is nothing about the pie that he can bring himself to truly regret.

“I see now why you come here after every competition,” Alec admits, groaning appreciatively as he steals a bite off of Magnus’ plate.

“Good,” Magnus says decisively, stealing a bite right back. “If you didn’t like it here, I don’t know if I’d be able to bring myself to be your boyfriend.”

Alec freezes instantaneously with another bite of pie halfway to his mouth.

“Is — are — are you?” he stutters, trying his best to avoid looking like an idiot but well aware he’s probably failing. “Are we?”

Magnus, for his part, is blinking and blushing and biting his lip in a way that implies he hadn’t really meant for that last part to slip out out loud. It’s strangely gratifying. 

“Well,” he says after a long moment, his voice somewhere between soft and strained. If he weren’t so busy panicking slightly, Alec would find that adorable. “I certainly wouldn’t mind.”

A soft, amazed grin sweeps over Alec’s face before he has a chance to stop it.

“I wouldn’t mind either,” he replies, and reaches out across the table on impulse. When Magnus takes his hand without hesitation, his heart sings.

—

Magnus, having initiated the date, insists on paying — “It’s just good manners, Alexander!” — but promises that Alec can plan the date next time.

_Next time_ , Alec thinks almost giddily as Magnus drives him home, and doesn’t even try to hide his goofy grin at the thought. Magnus wants to go on _more_ dates with him. Magnus agreed to be his _boyfriend_. His luck is usually so much worse than this.

The ride back to his house is disappointingly short, even after Magnus takes a wrong turn that Alec would almost swear is on purpose. Magnus goes around to open his door again after parking on the curb, and Alec grins up at him, shaking his head fondly.

They linger at the bottom of the steps that lead up to Alec’s front door, neither quite willing to be the first to say goodbye. Alec finally sighs and glances across at Magnus, smiling slightly.

“I, um, I don’t remember the last time I had that much fun,” he says, shuffling his feet. “So thank you.”

“You’re welcome, Alexander,” Magnus says softly, taking a little step closer that makes Alec’s heart race. “I had fun, too.”

Alec, in a fit of boldness that surprises even him, takes his own step forward. “Well… I’ll see you at the game, I guess. Tomorrow.”

“Yeah,” Magnus replies, tilting his chin up to compensate for the slight difference in their heights and meeting Alec’s eyes with steadfast warmth. “Though I hope you don’t mind if I text you later. I don’t abide by all those dumb rules about waiting however long after the date to text so you don’t look desperate, or whatever.”

Alec snorts. “Of course I don’t mind.”

“Good.” 

“Good.”

“Yes.”

“OK.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Alexander,” Magnus says, voice ever so slightly breathy, before leaning up to press a quick, dry kiss to Alec’s cheek. It’s blink-and-you’ll-miss-it fast, but Alec feels almost faint as Magnus immediately pulls away and bounces back down to his car.

_You’ve had his tongue in your mouth,_ Alec tries to remind himself. _One little kiss on the cheek is nothing_. It doesn’t help; he still feels just as hopelessly smitten as he waves and then watches Magnus drive off, his heart thumping. He waits until Magnus is fully out of sight before he turns to go into the house, taking the stairs two at a time.

The house is nearly dark — Jesus, he wonders, when did it get to be nine thirty? He and Magnus must have lingered at the diner longer than he’d thought. Technically, he has a nine o’clock curfew, but curfew only matters if there’s someone around to enforce it, which means that —

Shit. 

His mother’s office light is on.

And he’s made just enough noise getting into the house, lulled into a false sense of security in thinking everyone was already upstairs in bed anyway by the general lack of light, that he can make out the distinct sound of her desk chair rolling backwards. He considers making a run for it, just sprinting up the stairs and out of sight before she can really spot him, but he’s well aware that that’s pretty much a lost cause at this point.

Sure enough, Maryse Lightwood’s head pokes out of her office within seconds. Her eyes are a little bloodshot, and her hair is uncharacteristically messy, falling out of her usually clinically neat ponytail. Alec’s well aware that she’s probably been up since 4:30, if not earlier, becuase occasionally she will point this fact out when one of her children complains about how early they have to get up for school.

“Alec,” she says, sounding surprised. “Did you just get back? It’s not like you to be out this late.” 

It makes him feel a bit guilty that his immediate gut reaction is to think, _How the hell would you know?_

She and his dad, they work a lot. They’re not _bad_ parents, per se, they’re just not around very much. Honestly, at this point, Alec’s fine with that; it means more time to himself, less constant worry that they’re going to walk in on him texting Magnus or watching Drag Race or something — not that he _does_ watch Drag Race, it’s not really his thing, but, you know, in theory — and somehow smell the homosexuality on him.

Which is really the problem with answering her question, because Alec has two options, unless he wants this conversation to get very involved and probably very heated and possibly tearful, which he definitely does not. Either one is about half the truth, and he hates both. He _could_ say he was ‘out with a friend,’ and feel like he’s stabbing Magnus in the back with every word somehow, even though he knows, somehow, that Magnus would understand. Or he could say he was on a date, and have his mom assume he means with a girl, and just not correct her. Neither is a direct lie; he and Magnus are, after all, friends. They’re just also _boy_ friends, a giddy thought that distracts him from his current predicament for just a second.

His mother quirks an eyebrow, the motion bringing him right back down to Earth. Right. Shit.

“I was just… out,” he says, unable to settle on either imperfect option and deciding to be incredibly vague instead. “I’ve got to, uh, get up early tomorrow to get some rehearsal in before the football game, though, so —”

It’s a lie, but a very believable one, and she lets him slip by without comment, up the stairs and to the relative safety of his room. He can’t honestly believe that _worked_ , though he supposes that that remains to be seen, really; there’s nothing stopping her from asking him the next time she sees him. Hopefully — and given that he’s hoped for the exact opposite for most of his life, it should probably feel weirder for him to think this, but hopefully — the next time she sees him will be long enough from now that she’ll have forgotten.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rehearsal, and a possible new after-rehearsal tradition...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We haven't really addressed percussion yet, but there are some brief mentions in this chapter, so that's your Marching Lesson(TM) for today! Percussion in marching band is split into two parts: the drumline, who wear/carry their instruments and actually march around on the field, and the pit, who have instruments which aren't mobile and sit at the front sideline. (Think timpani, big-ass gongs, that sort of thing.) Oh -- and shakos are [the military-style hats worn by many marching bands.](https://cdn3.volusion.com/ejdcn.taprh/v/vspfiles/photos/HW630-2T.jpg?1521715628)
> 
> In case anyone's wondering, no, their marching show is not based on any real pieces of music -- though if you know of any that you think fit the description, I'm certainly all ears!
> 
> For those who don't read the books, Emma -- and Julian, who's also mentioned -- are from The Dark Artifices. I needed another junior drum major, and I love her, so... *shrugs* Not to worry, any book-exclusive characters will largely be cameos. I just can't resist peppering a few in.

“All right, everyone,” Ms. Herondale calls out, her voice amplified. She’s the only person up higher than Alec is — he has his tower, which is taller than the junior drum majors’ towers, but Herondale has hers, which is taller than his. Alec doesn’t resent it, obviously; she’s the band director. He resents _her_ , a little bit, but that’s… well, it’s petty. It has nothing to do with her talents as a teacher or musician or director and everything to do with the way she’d very nearly passed him over for Jace, last spring, when they were deciding on band leadership for the following season. Jace didn’t — doesn’t — even _want_ to be drum major; he never has, when Alec has burned for it and worked for it.

Saying Jace just doesn’t have that kind of ambition makes it sound like they were in the running to be President, not to be a bank geek with some slight authority over the other band geeks, but, well. It’s still _true_.

“I want to see it one more time,” Herondale says, which everyone knows is a bald-faced lie told by band directors the world over since time immemorial; what it translates to is ‘probably at least five more times, especially if you fuck up.’ “Take it from A.”

As the band below him scrambles into motion, everyone heading to their positions for measure A — the first major hit of the show — Alec shuts his eyes for just a moment and pictures it. Each individual member of the band has to know _their_ part in the music and _their_ position and movements on the field, as well as enough of their neighbors’ to serve as a reference to adjust themselves against if they need to. 

Alec, on the other hand, has to know _everything_. 

Behind his eyelids, he sees the entire picture: the whole band, the full breadth of the music. The hornline, the winds, the pit, the drumline, the guard. Himself, too, just a touch above all of it, just a few feet removed, and his deputies, the junior drum majors: Raj at the back of the field, opposite him, and Emma off to his right. He keeps his eyes squeezed shut and tries to see it all — the whole, and all of the pieces.

The he opens his eyes and nods at Emma, who sets off the familiar pulse-pounding tick of the metronome, and his hands fly into motion with certainty and precision.

He makes four crisp motions before the sudden crash of the music hits him. They’re at the midpoint of the intro, the first movement of the show, trumpets and horns crescendoing into a powerful brass hit. It’s a punch that’s underscored by low, dark unease from the low brass and the low winds and the timpani, a promise of what’s to come. The shrill counterpoint of the flutes adds to that feeling of dread, a purposeful dissonance — a descent into hell.

It’s impossible to really hear the more subtle sounds produced by the guard from his position, but from the corner of his eye, as he stares straight ahead, he can see the snap and flare of the flags as they complete a key toss, scattered through the band in little spots of color. It’s a hard move, apparently — Magnus has bitched about it to him a couple times, even before they were dating, which he’s sure means he’ll be hearing a lot more about it now — and it’s not quite all there yet; a couple of girls don’t quite make the catch, and even the guard members that do aren’t quite together. But it’s getting there. Even with the plain red practice flags — to keep the proper ones from getting dirty outside of performances — it’s a stunning sight.

They make it to the end of the intro pretty successfully before Herondale calls them to a stop. A couple of freshmen keep marching a few steps more than everyone else — they always do — but everyone mostly stops together. Slowly, Alec lowers his hands.

Herondale immediately starts pointing out the flaws that made her stop the run, and Alec knows he should pay attention, he _knows_ , but there’s a tiny flash of motion at the fifty yard line, front and center, while everyone else is standing still at attention, and he really can’t help but be distracted.

Magnus gets pride of place, as guard captain, which is part of why he’s so visible and distracting now; the motion Alec caught was him stripping his flag, gathering up all the fabric around the pole so he can rest it easily in the crook of his elbow. His eyes, Alec can tell, are trained on Herondale, but there’s a hint of a smirk curling his lips, which gives Alec the sneaking suspicion that Magnus knows exactly where _his_ attention is.

Oh, well; if he had been kidding himself at any point about being subtle when it comes to how into Magnus he is, that fantasy is long gone by now.

“...tighten up that diagonal, it fell apart two beats in,” Herondale is saying sharply. “Finally, Mr. Bane!”

Magnus straightens up from his slight slouch, and his expression is instantly serious and focused. Alec valiantly pretends that that look is not an immense turn-on.

“That toss is coming along,” Herondale says, which is practically effusive, tearful, heartfelt praise coming from her. Alec hears at least one member of the guard sigh in clear relief. “But I need it flawless by our first show. Understand?”

Magnus grins up at her, wild and bright, and Alec’s heart skips a beat even though that smile isn’t pointed at him. “Ma’am, yes ma’am.”

He gets a few titters out of the band for that, and a small, fond smile from Alec, but just a nod from Herondale, who keeps moving right along.

“All right, reset again to A,” she says, and immediately the band scrambles to obey. “I want to see it one more time…”

—

By the time rehearsal gets out, they’ve run the intro from A seven more times. Alec, and he suspects the majority of the rest of the band as well, kept very careful count. 

Herondale dismisses them at five on the dot — no matter her faults, the woman always follows the schedule to the letter; Alec can count on one hand the number of times rehearsal has ended late and have fingers left over — and Alec gathers up his things before slowly descending from his tower.

Almost everyone else is already off the field by the time he gets down to ground level. Some people are headed straight for the student parking lot, while others — mostly those with large instruments that they don’t want to lug home, or the percussionists, who _can’t_ take theirs home even if they might want to — are making their way from the football field to the side door of the school that leads directly into the band hall. He catches just a glimpse of Magnus off in the distance, holding the door for someone, it looks like, but he doesn’t bother hurrying over to try and catch up; he knows Magnus has after-rehearsal responsibilities just the same as he does.

Sure enough, by the time Alec gets done helping Emma store away the metronome and running a couple of little errands for Herondale, a fair majority of the band has cleared out of the band hall already. There are still a few hanging around, but it’s getting close to six; most people have other things to be doing. Alec, meanwhile, is on a mission, now that he’s free of his duties.

The guard room — mostly used for flag storage, but with a row of mirrors along one wall almost like a dressing room — is empty, and Magnus clearly isn’t hanging around in the band hall proper, because there’s not exactly anywhere to hide, so Alec starts to methodically peek in on any other potential hiding spots: the percussion room, Herondale’s office, the practice rooms. He doesn’t think to check the uniform room until last, which, of course, is why he spies the curve of Magnus’ back peeking out from behind a rack of guard uniforms when he looks in.

“Magnus?” he says, stepping fully into the room and shutting the door behind him.

Magnus immediately backs into view. “Alexander!”

“I was looking for you.” Hopefully that doesn’t sound too clingy, or something, but, well. Magnus, true to his word, had texted Alec not 20 minutes after their date had ended on Friday, first an assurance that he’d gotten home safely and then a string of things he’d enjoyed and a couple of casually-placed references to the fact that he was overjoyed that they’d already had the ‘boyfriend’ conversation on their very first date. Alec somehow doubts that Magnus would mind even if Alec _was_ a little clingy. 

“Mmm, I can see that,” Magnus agrees, coming a little closer. Alec tries not to notice the subtle sway of his hips, but it’s very hard when they’re in such close quarters. “We’ve _got_ to stop meeting like this, you know.”

“W-what do you mean?” Alec asks, cursing himself for the stutter but also one hundred percent unable to look away from Magnus’ face, and equally incapable of not letting his eyes trace over the smirking curve of his lips. Damn. This has gone from zero to sixty in no time at all; he can feel his heart pounding in his ears.

“Well, _you_ know.” Magnus steps even closer, until they’re fully in one another’s space. “All alone behind a closed door in the band hall… If I didn’t know better, I’d think you had some sort of band kink,” he teases.

Even with Magnus still just centimeters away, that’s enough to lighten the mood a little. Alec snorts. “Hey, you’re the instigator here. _Both_ times. If anyone has a kink, it’s you.” “Oh? _I’m_ the instigator? You’re the one who was ‘looking for me,’” Magnus shoots back, but he’s grinning now. 

“I just wanted to talk!” Alec protests. “I wasn’t looking for you so we could… you know…”

“Have a repeat of last week?” Magnus supplies. “I think it could make for a _wonderful_ post-rehearsal tradition. A reward for both of us for surviving another two hours in the hot sun with Herondale breathing fire at us. Positive reinforcement, you know?”

“Positive reinforcement. Right.” Alec shakes his head, biting his lip to hold back a laugh. “I, uh — I really did want to talk to you, though.”

Magnus sighs, sounding incredibly put-upon, and takes a small step back, leaning out of Alec’s space just a bit. “All right, all right, I’ll behave. What did you want to talk about?”

“Well,” Alec says, dragging the word out far longer than is really necessary. “We’ve got one last free Saturday coming up before competition season starts, so I was hoping maybe we could… have that second date that you promised to let me plan?”

The smile he gets in return is so blindingly bright that Alec feels his heart skip several beats. He actually has to look away, shifting his gaze just slightly to look over Magnus’ shoulder instead, because what the fuck? Is that kind of smile even legal? 

“I think that sounds like a _wonderful_ idea,” Magnus says, and narrows the distance between them again, swaying back into Alec’s space like he’d never left. Alec jumps a little when he feels a hand settle around his waist; he’d been so busy trying to avoid looking at Magnus head-on in order to stop himself from blushing that he hadn’t even noticed the motion until Magnus’ fingers were already wrapping themselves just above his hips. 

“Yeah?” he breathes. It’s nonsensical, but with Magnus looking at him like that, and with the way their thin workout gear doesn’t do anything at all to stop the exchange of body heat, Alec can’t _think_.

“Definitely,” Magnus confirms, and then he’s leaning up and in and Alec lets his eyes flutter closed as their lips meet.

What was it Magnus had said before? _A repeat of last week?_ Well, there’s no couch in here, and Alec isn’t feeling particularly inclined at the present moment to make for the tuba practice room in order to get to one, so he has to make do with crowding Magnus up against the uniform racks instead, pressing him back into a row of black-and-red marching uniforms. 

Magnus hums into the kiss as Alec loops an arm around his waist to draw him in tighter, and then his mouth is falling open just a little around the sound and Alec feels his mouth drop open in response before he can even blink. And then everything fades out a little, the whole world falling away into a buzzing in his ears and a fog in the back of his mind as Magnus tugs lightly at his hair, his lips so _soft_ as they slide against Alec’s, and —

The door suddenly opens, and Alec leans back so fast he nearly overbalances and falls flat on his ass.

“Seriously, you guys?” It’s Emma. Alec spares a moment, even amidst the tidal wave of embarrassment that’s crashing through him, to be glad that if it had to be one of the junior drum majors that walked in on them, at least it wasn’t Raj.

“Don’t mind us,” Magnus says cheerfully, still holding Alec close, though they’re no longer kissing, and absolutely refusing to be cowed by Emma’s amused smirk. “If you need the room, we’ll get out of your hair.”

Emma snickers at them, shaking her head as she moves purposefully towards the racks of hat boxes, which is when Alec notices that she’s carrying a shako. “I’d say ‘get a room,’ but it’s clear that you tried. ‘A’ for effort, I guess.”

“Everyone’s a critic,” Magnus sighs, not seeming too concerned with the fact that Alec hasn’t been able to so much as stutter out a single word. He grabs Alec by the wrist and cheerfully tugs him out of the room; when the door swings shut behind them, Alec can still hear Emma laughing to herself.

Neither one of them says anything until they’re a safe distance away from the uniform room. Magnus seems to just be walking on autopilot, leading them towards the guard room instead, and when he slowly comes to a stop, the band hall almost completely empty around them, Alec can’t help but shoot him a look, and when he sees the way Magnus is looking back at him, like he’s half afraid Alec is going to run screaming, all of a sudden he can’t hold back his own laughter.

It doesn’t take long for it to spread to Magnus, and then there they both are, giggling like idiots outside the door to the guard room. 

“You should have seen the look on your face when she walked in,” Magnus says, gasping the words out around a peal of laughter. His whole face crinkles up when he laughs, and Alec is not ashamed to admit that it is the cutest freaking thing he has ever seen. “It’s not like we were doing anything bad, even! You should see the things Emma and her boyfriend get up to in the back of the bus when they think no one’s looking. She’s got no room to judge.”

Alec, who really does like both Emma and her boyfriend Julian, definitely does _not_ want to see or know about such things. He shudders a little at the thought, but he’s still laughing. “I know, I know. It could’ve been worse. It — god. It could’ve been Ms. Herondale.”

Magnus goes abruptly still. “Oh, Jesus, Alexander, please don’t even say things like that.” 

That just makes Alec laugh harder — good to know Magnus has _some_ shame — but he does, eventually, manage to get himself under control.

“I should, um, probably get going,” he says, biting his lip, and Magnus nods. “But I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Of course. And let me know where to be and when on Saturday?”

“Yeah. I’ll just — I’ll text you once I’m sure.”

Magnus smiles that stupidly heart-stopping smile again, and it’s all Alec can do to wrench himself out of Magnus’ gravity and duck down the hall to grab his backpack before heading out to his car as quickly as possible. 

He wasn’t lying about needing to get home, after all; he has a date to plan.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Magnus is a man on a mission, and Alec almost spills a lot of things a lot of times.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today's marching band lesson is: dot books and drill charts! Both of these are diagrams that use a grid and 'dots' to indicate the position of a member of the band on the field. Generally speaking, a [drill chart](http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-CIlMnfRw4LQ/UDo8rW55ATI/AAAAAAAAAnI/YjBI3leUo6Q/s1600/2012+ORHS+Opener+Charts+24D+pic.jpg) depicts the whole band, and is mostly used by drill designers, band directors, drum leaders, etc. to get a sense for what the big picture looks like/should look like. A [dot book,](http://ultimatedrillbook.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/05/New-Filled-Ultimate-Dot-Book.png) on the other hand, is something each individual member of the band/guard would have. Typically they're spiral bound, and they're more focused on your specific position on the field at any given time. The example in the link above is actually a lot fancier than the ones we used at my high school; maybe they've gotten fancier in the years since I graduated? Ours pretty much just had fill-in-the blank slots for what measure it was, and then our x and y coordinates on the field (given as numbers of steps off of the yard lines). It's basically all just graphing, but with people and music? Yay, band math!

“Oh my god, _there_ you are. Of course. I should have known to look here first.”

Alec jumps, only just managing to avoid spewing dot charts all over the floor. Keeping things balanced on a music stand that’s bent over until it’s parallel to the floor is hard enough when you’re not convulsing in shock. “Magnus! Hey.”

“Hey yourself,” Magnus says, sounding terribly amused as he drags a chair over to where Alec’s set up shop in the corner of the band hall, surrounded by sheet music, drill charts, and his open laptop, which is paused on a video from their rehearsal last week — a full run of the ballad and closer. Herondale records them at least once a week, to make it easier for her, the drum majors, and anyone else who might need to review in between rehearsals. “What are you up to?”

“Oh, um, just taking a closer look at the ballad,” Alec replies, shifting his mess around so that it at least looks a little neater on the surface. “There’s this weird bit at the beginning that still isn’t clicking — I don’t know if you can tell down on the field, but from above…” He pulls a face.

Magnus laughs, flopping down easily beside him and discarding his backpack to one side, peering over at the drill charts. “So you’re telling me the reason I couldn’t find my boyfriend for lunch is because he was in here being all responsible and hardworking?”

“Uh,” Alec says very intelligently, because he still can’t get over the oh-so-casual way Magnus says the word _boyfriend_. “Yeah, something like that. You were — um, you were looking for me?”

Magnus nods, shooting him a crooked smile. “I thought we could eat together. Call it date 1.5 or something. But now we only have fifteen minutes left, since I had to comb the _entire_ school to find you.”

Alec is blushing, but still manages to quirk an eyebrow, so he counts that as a win. “If you ‘combed the whole school’ before thinking to check the one place where I spend like 90% of my time, that’s on you, not me.”

“ _Rude,”_ Magnus says, fake-gasping in disbelief. “There goes my plan to share my lunch with you, considering I doubt you’ve eaten.”

“I had a granola bar,” Alec defends, though he also sits up a little straighter and tries to look contrite. “But, um, I can be nice if there’s food involved.”

Magnus smirks at shoots him a speculative look that makes Alec _very_ glad that he’s one of the only people who ever comes in here at lunchtime, meaning there’s not anyone around to witness what’s going on. “How nice?”

Alec bites his lip, and has to lower his gaze to the floor for a moment because seriously, there’s only so much a guy can take. But then he takes a deep, calming breath and looks back up at Magnus through his lashes, praying to any and all listening deities that he doesn’t look like an idiot. 

“ _Very_ nice,” he says, and watches in rapt fascination as Magnus’ cheeks turn pink.

“All right, all right, you’ve twisted my arm,” Magnus says, and Alec watches, grinning helplessly, as Magnus leans over to rifle through his backpack for a second before pulling out a Tupperware container that seems to contain some kind of noodle dish. He passes it to Alec, then hands him a fork and watches expectantly. 

Alec opens the container with the distinct eagerness of a teenage boy who’s only had a granola bar since breakfast. Sure enough, it’s noodles in a rich-looking brown sauce, with mushrooms and spinach and chunks of chicken. Magnus must have microwaved it somewhere on his quest to find Alec, because it’s warm, and it smells _heavenly._

“Careful, you keep looking at it like that and I’m going to get jealous,” Magnus teases, but he sounds inordinately pleased with himself.

“Shut up,” Alec says, before promptly cramming as much of the dish into his mouth as he possibly can and groaning in delight. This lasts for about 0.0002 seconds before he realizes that stuffing his face maybe isn’t the best look around his very new and very beautiful boyfriend and starts chewing as quickly as possible in an attempt to recover.

“Who made this? It’s _amazing_ ,” he adds once he’s swallowed, making another low, pleased sound.

“My mom,” Magnus says. He sounds a little bit strangled, his eyes fixed resolutely _not_ on Alec, and he has to clear his throat before he continues. He doesn’t sound, like, disgusted, though, and he’s kind of pink in the cheeks still, so Alec figures he hasn’t scared him off completely with the starving dog routine. “I’ll have to pass along the compliment. She’s, um, dying to meet you, actually.”

There’s a question baked into the end of that sentence, and Alec nods slowly, taking another bite of noodles as an excuse to wait and think a little bit before he responds.

“I, uh,” he says softly, and coughs. “I’d… really like that.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Alec assures him, then hesitates. It’s not too soon for that kind of thing, is it? Magnus had been the one who brought it up. He wouldn’t have asked if he didn’t mean it, would he? He’s not the kind of guy to play dumb mind games. 

“I can hear you overthinking,” Magnus says with a certain fond amusement. “I mean it. My mom’s been asking about you. We’re pretty close, so she’s… I mean, even before I asked you out, she was… No, you know what, I’m quitting while I’m ahead, but I really do mean it about her wanting to meet you.”

Alec has half a mind to ask what ‘quitting while he’s ahead’ means in this particular context, and how Magnus’ mom would have known about him before they’d started dating — he’s never met her or been to Magnus’ house or anything — but he’s not quite brave enough, and takes another bite of noodles instead.

“So,” Magnus says after a beat of silence where Alec mostly chews and tries to puzzle out the whole concept of meeting Magnus’ mom. “What about _your_ family?”

Alec can’t help but freeze. He knows it’s the wrong reaction — he can tell by the way Magnus startles a little when he takes it is — but it’s an automatic response that he can’t stop.

“I mean, I already know Isabelle, obviously,” Magnus says, when Alec can’t quite make any words come out. “And believe me, I’m the last one to pry about things like this if there’s some reason you don’t want to tell me, because I _get_ it. I just… I know your family is important to you.”

Alec takes another bite of noodles, chews slowly, swallows. When he can’t dawdle anymore, he softly says, “They are. It’s not… It’s just…”

Damn, but he’d really hoped to hold off on this conversation for… well, for as long as possible. Obviously, he’d known it was inevitable, but he’s really enjoyed the little bubble he and Magnus have been in so far, where, barring freak incidences like running into his mom after their first date, he really hasn’t had to worry about his family as they pertain to his relationship. He sighs.

“It’s not even like there’s anything, I don’t know… big,” he mutters. “I’m just being dumb about it.”

Magnus raises his eyebrows and slowly, almost tentatively, lays one hand on Alec’s arm in a comforting gesture. “I really doubt that, seeing as how you’re not dumb.”

Alec feels his entire heart melt. He _actually_ feels it. Suddenly there’s a puddle of something molten in his chest, and he feels like he can barely breathe.

“And if you don’t want to tell me, no matter what it is,” Magnus continues, as though Alec isn’t actively combusting, “you _really_ don’t have to.”

“I want to,” Alec argues. “I mean, I don’t, but I _do_.”

Magnus doesn’t dignify that with a response, just stares, which Alec supposes is fair. He groans and scrubs a hand through his hair before turning a little in his seat to face Magnus more fully, setting the noodles aside.

“I just mean,” Alec says, a little more slowly, “that while I’m obviously not _excited_ about this conversation, I do want to tell you, because — because you’re important, and this isn’t something I want to… keep from you. Keeping it from you would be a bad way to start a relationship, I’m pretty sure.”

Magnus smiles softly at that, his whole posture loosening up a little. “Okay. Then I’m all ears, and I promise, no judgement or anything. No matter what it is.”

Alec doesn’t exactly _need_ that reassurance — he trusts Magnus; that isn’t the problem here — but that doesn’t mean it isn’t a nice thing to hear anyway. He takes a deep breath.

“I’m not out to my parents,” he admits. “I am to Izzy, obviously, and my little brother Max, too, even though he’s only nine. But my parents, it’s… I just honestly have no idea how they’ll react, and up until now, I haven’t really even had a reason to _want_ to come out to them.” 

Magnus nods slowly, letting out a little hum of consideration. “But now you _do_ have a reason?” he asks, voice curious but otherwise totally neutral. Alec blinks at him in surprise.

“Well, yeah,” he says, knocking their shoulders together. “Because now I have a boyfriend. I think you might know him, actually.”

The smile Magnus gives him in response to that is the eighth wonder of the world. Alec dimly regrets not having his phone ready to take a picture, even though he’s sure that a photo wouldn’t really be able to do it justice.

“Well,” Magnus says after a moment, “I don’t want you to feel rushed because of me, okay? Coming out is… I fully appreciate how hard it is, especially with family, _especially_ when you’re not sure how they’re going to react. We can play it by ear, and you talk to your parents if and when you’re ready, all right?”

“I just don’t want you to feel like… I don’t know, like I’m trying to keep you a secret. Because I’m not, Magnus, I swear I’m not. You’re — shit. You’re amazing. And I still can’t believe you asked me out.”

Magnus gives him that smile _again_. Seriously, it’s like he has no respect for the well-being of Alec’s poor heart. Alec resolves to tell his sister that if he dies suddenly of a heart attack at age eighteen, it is most definitely Magnus’ fault.

“Trust me, Alexander, I’ve been the dirty little secret before,” Magnus says, squeezing Alec’s arm. “I know what that feels like, and this is not it. I don’t want you to even worry about that. If I start feeling weird about, I promise to tell you, but I really don’t think —”

And suddenly Alec just can’t take it anymore. He knows they’re out in the open in the middle of the band hall; he knows that lunch is almost over, that people will start to file in for fifth-period band soon, that there is a fairly significant chance someone will walk in and see, but at the moment, he well and truly does not care. He can’t hold himself back for even a second longer from leaning over and kissing Magnus square on the mouth.

It’s a fairly chaste kiss, all things considered, but the small noise of surprise Magnus makes against his mouth still makes Alec shiver.

When they pull apart, Alec keeps his eyes shut tight for just a moment longer, savoring the phantom feeling Magnus’ lips leave behind, like a touch memory. When he finally blinks his eyes open, Magnus is staring at him with an expression that’s incredibly soft, and yet so blindingly bright it almost makes Alec shut his lids all over again.

Neither one of them, evidently, can think of anything to say; they just sit there like that, staring at each other and grinning like idiots, because there’s no way Alec can see that expression on Magnus’ face and _not_ smile back.

“Uh,” Alec says suddenly, apropos of nothing, because — because it really _is_ getting close to the end of lunch, and if they go back to anything resembling their previous conversation, he’s not going to be able to stop himself from dragging Magnus to the nearest available room with a door that locks (or that they can at least block off with furniture or something). “What’s your favorite kind of pizza?”

Magnus blinks, but relaxes back into his chair. It’s very possible that he feels the need for a topic change — a retreat, in a sense, into safer waters — as clearly as Alec does. He makes a considering noise, tapping a finger against his lips.

“They do this one called the Wild Ham at Dave and Marco’s,” he says eventually. “Ham, spinach, caramelized onions, and white sauce. It is _divine_.”

“Sounds way classier than the normal old ham and pineapple.”

“That’s obvious, given that pineapple on pizza is an affront to humanity,” Magnus sniffs, with a challenging expression on his face like he’s _daring_ Alec to say something to the contrary. 

It is _adorable_. How did even this stupid pizza discussion lead to Alec wanting to kiss Magnus senseless? He should sue. 

“Good to know,” he mumbles, knowing he probably doesn’t sound all that intelligent, but unable to come up with anything more coherent at the moment.

Magnus laughs softly. “Is there a reason you asked, or…?”

“Yes.” But Alec doesn’t expand on that, because it’s a surprise, but if he _admits_ it’s a surprise then he’s pretty sure Magnus will try to get it out of him, and _very_ sure that he’ll succeed if he puts in even the slightest amount of effort, because his smiles already have Alec melting; there’s no telling what his puppy dog eyes might do. 

Thankfully, that’s when the bell rings to indicate the end of their lunch period; Alec startles so intensely that he almost upsets the food, all his dot charts, and everything all over again, and he pretends not to notice the way Magnus stifles a laugh in his hand mostly in order to preserve his own dignity.

“Uh — I gotta get to class, but,” he says, even as he rapidly starts to gather everything up and shove it all into his backpack in some semblance of order, “I’ll see you at rehearsal later?” 

He offers Magnus his Tupperware back, having made a significant dent in the noodle level, and can’t stop the smile that fights it way onto his face when Magnus’ fingers brush against his as he takes the container.

“You definitely will,” Magnus assures him. “Now go — I don’t want you to complain about it being my fault if you’re late for class.”

“It _would_ be your fault,” Alec says, and, in a fit of confidence that he tries not to overthink, adds, “You’re just too damn distracting.” But then he’s gone, zipping his backpack up and hightailing it out of the band hall, shooting Magnus a last glance over his shoulder and trying desperately to maintain the fantasy that his cheeks aren’t burning. 


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A pizza picnic in the park.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Sorry for the unplanned week off last week. I was busy moving across the country (!) and getting engaged (!!) -- and I knew I was going to be moving, obviously, and planned to write anyway, but then my partner proposed a couple of hours before my planned writing session and I decided to go ahead and take the week off. So, sorry about that, but here it is! Better late than never?
> 
> Enjoy!

Alec doesn’t actually know what the normal amount of nervousness would be in this situation, but he’s relatively certain that he’s surpassed it.

He’s trying desperately to remind himself of how well their first date had gone as he pulls up outside Magnus’ house. Conversation had flowed easily then, even though they’d _both_ been nervous. There’s no reason to think that this time will be any different, is there?

Except _he_ planned this one, and what if Magnus hates it? Then it’s all on him. _He’ll_ have ruined this whole thing, this beautiful wonderful thing he never thought he would ever get to have, with the beautiful wonderful boy he’s had a huge crush on since basically forever, and this will be no one’s fault but his own, and — 

And Magnus is bounding out of the house and practically diving for the passenger’s side of Alec’s car before Alec has even put in into park in his driveway. He has to fumble to unlock the door in time, his fingers slipping in haste and shock.

“Hi,” Magnus breathes happily as soon as he’s inside, leaning across the center console for a kiss. Alec is so surprised that he barely manages to kiss back in time.

“Hi,” he echoes. “Um, I thought I was… Your mom?”

It’s barely a complete sentence, but Magnus doesn’t seem to mind. He shoots Alec a smile as he leans back to do up his seatbelt, a flush high on his cheekbones from his sprint out to the car.

“She got called in to work last minute,” Magnus explains. “But she made me swear up and down I’d get you to commit to coming over to meet her some other time before I come home tonight.”

“Consider me committed,” Alec replies easily, torn between the guilty flood of relief that comes with the notion of side-stepping a stressful social situation, at least for the time being, and genuine regret; Magnus and his mom clearly have a good relationship, and if she’s anything like her son, Alec is looking forward to meeting her.

“That was easy,” Magnus quips back, laughing. “So. We good to go? I assume I’m still not allowed to know the plan?”

“Hey, you kept _me_ in suspense,” Alec says, carefully backing out of the driveway again. His head is spinning a little from the sudden modification of their plans, but Magnus has managed to pull him out of his own head, at least, so that’s something.

“I know, I know.” Magnus is still smiling, to the point where he looks a little giddy. “Can’t blame me for being excited, though.”

Maybe that shouldn’t make Alec blush, but it sure as shit does. What the hell is he supposed to say to that? Ugh, he knew he’d hit the edge of his flirting expertise sooner rather than later. At least he’d held out this long. He has a sudden, ridiculous thought of Izzy feeding him lines through an earpiece, like in a bad movie, that makes his lips twitch into a grin before he pushes it aside.

They end up making the rest of the drive in silence, but Alec manages to convince himself not to be too worried about that for a couple of reasons. Firstly, it’s not a long drive; he purposefully picked a convenient location. Secondly, the silence isn’t awkward — he might even call it companionable. As best he can tell from his peripheral vision, Magnus keeps smiling more or less the whole time, so that’s got to be a good sign.

“Oooh, I think I know where we’re going,” Magnus says excitedly as Alec makes a turn in search of parking, and Alec can’t help but laugh.

“We’re _here_ already,” he points out. “And we literally just passed the sign.”

“You’re not parked, so we’re not there yet,” Magnus insists. “I totally still get credit for figuring it out.”

“If you say so,” Alec says as he pulls into an empty spot in the tiny parking lot adjacent to their destination. Thank god he didn’t have to try and parallel park on the street; he definitely doesn’t need this date to start with Magnus finding out firsthand how he failed that part of his driving test three consecutive times.

Alec isn’t quick enough to get around to the passenger’s side and open the door before Mangus is already hopping out, so he settles for cracking the trunk to dig out his carefully packed supplies instead. Magnus’ whole face lights up when he sees the picnic basket, and Alec hands it to him so that his own hands are free for the blanket, wrapped carefully around the hidden pièce de résistance, and the jugs of lemonade and iced tea.

“What’s in there?” Manus asks, gesturing to the blanket, and Alec grins.

“A surprise.”

“You’re just _full_ of surprises, aren’t you?” Magnus waits while Alec shuts the trunk and locks the car, then falls easily into step beside him. “A picnic in the park is a good surprise, though. And an _excellent_ second date idea. Kudos to you, sir.”

“I can’t take all the credit,” Alec admits, even though he’s smiling ear to ear and blushing, pleased. “I had some help.”

“Isabelle?” Magnus guesses.

Alec shakes his head with a little chuckle. “Nope. The other sibling, actually.”

“Oh! Max, right?” They pick their way across the sidewalk into the park proper, both searching for the perfect place to set up shop. It’s a relatively small park, mostly just a jogging trail winding around a small pond, but there’s a little copse of trees butting up against the water, providing shade from the last of the summer heat, and by unspoken agreement they head in that direction.

“Yeah,” Alec says, belatedly realizing that maybe it isn’t the best idea to admit that he’d taken dating advice from his nine-year-old brother. Then again, Magnus has already said he likes the idea, so maybe he’s in the clear? “He was talking about wanting to go for a picnic before it starts to get cold, and I kind of stole the idea. He totally flipped when he saw me packing the basket, until I told him he wasn’t invited.”

“Now that’s just cruel,” Magnus teases as they get closer to the trees. “Way to get the poor kid’s hopes up and then yank it all away.”

“I didn’t do it on purpose!” Alec protests, flushing. “Besides, he forgave me when I said it was for a date.”

Magnus smiles at that, but doesn’t respond, instead nodding at a patch of grass as they draw close to the trees. “Does this spot look good to you?”

“Looks perfect,” Alec says, nodding, and they both start to set things down. Alec unwraps the blanket from around the box it’s concealing when Magnus isn’t looking, preserving the surprise for another couple of moments; he manages to keep the box behind his back until they’re both sitting down on the blanket, food and drinks and various odds and ends scattered all around them on the blanket. Only then does he draw it out from behind his back and set it casually between them, waiting for Magnus to notice.

It takes a second, because Magnus is busy pouring them both glasses of lemonade, but his eyes go comically wide and then soften when he does finally notice Alec’s last surprise.

“Now I get why you were asking me about pizza earlier,” he says, laughing, as he sets down his drink in order to happily inspect the box. “This is so sweet, Alexander, thank you.”

“I hope I got it all right,” Alec says, grinning and blushing a little and feeling just the tiniest bit smug.

“You did,” Magnus assures him, reaching in to grab a slice. “Your recon paid off.”

Alec hums, reaching for his own slice of pizza and settling fully into his spot on the blanket. _So far, so good,_ he thinks, and smiles to himself as he takes a bite and chews. There’s a light breeze ruffling his hair, sunlight is shining down through the leaves of the tree over their heads to dapple across Magnus’ face, the first hint of a fall chill in the air is keeping things at a nice, late-summer temperature, perfect for spending time outdoors… This might just be the perfect way to spend a Saturday. Especially since this is their last free Saturday for a while. He’s very, very relieved they were able to fit this end before band competition season starts up in earnest.

“I meant to ask,” Magnus says, breaking him out of his thoughts. “You mentioned you’re out to your brother, but not your parents?”

Alec has a feeling he knows where this is going. “Yeah?”

“How does that work? I mean, it’s definitely possible he’s just a more mature nine-year-old than I was, but when I was his age, I wouldn’t have been able to keep something like that a secret for more than five minutes.”

Alec takes a bite of pizza and chews slowly to give himself a second before replying. He was right, it turns out; that was the question he’d sort of expected. He knows it’s a bit odd, that — to Magnus’ point — if he had any other little brother, any that wasn’t Max, his situation wouldn’t make any sense. And he’s never actually had to explain or justify it before, because Izzy and Jace are probably the only other people who know he’s out to Max, and they both know Max well enough themselves to get it.

“Mature is definitely one word for it,” he settles on eventually. “Max is… He’s a really good kid. And he’s really close with me and Izzy. _Really_ close. Our parents just aren’t around much, so he spends a lot more time with us than them anyway. And he understands not just that he’s not supposed to tell Mom and Dad, but _why_ he can’t tell them. He’s smart enough to get it, you know?”

He’s not sure how much any of that makes sense, but Magnus is nodding slowly as he talks, which makes him feel at least a little better. 

“I’m glad, then,” Magnus tells him, one corner of his lips twisting up into a soft smile. “I mean, not that you can’t be fully out at home, but that at least your siblings understand. I know they mean a lot to you.”

“They do,” Alec agrees, easily but quietly. 

They fall into silence for a moment after that. The breeze brings them the occaisional snippet of sound from elsewhere in the park and all around: a dog barking, kids laughing, the slap of a jogger’s shoes against the pavement. The pizza is already steadily disappearing between the two of them as they each reach for a second piece, and Alec takes a long swig of his drink, leaning back a little with his weight in the palms of his hands and tipping his face up towards the sky.

He looks back down when Magnus makes a quiet, considering noise. While Alec wasn’t looking, Magnus has flopped back and sprawled out even more than he has, leaning on his elbows and taking up perhaps more than his share of the picnic blanket. He’s looking all around, his eyes slowly scanning the park, his expression calm and content.

“I needed this,” he says, and when he glances over to meet Alec’s eyes Alec feels his heart give a kick in his chest in that way that he’s coming to associate with Magnus and Magnus alone. 

“I’m glad you’re having a good time,” Alec replies easily enough, though the words sound stilted in his mind after he’s said them. Magnus smiles softly back at him, though, so he tries not to be too bothered by it, tries to focus on the warm, happy feeling in the air between them instead.

Magnus laughs quietly, almost to himself, but when Alec raises his eyebrows at him and makes a little questioning noise, he says, “You should tell your baby brother he needs to go into event planning when he grows up. Clearly he’s got the mind for it,” and Alec just laughs and reaches across the picnic blanket for another slice of pizza.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An Instagram incident and a relatively rough rehearsal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi y'all! I had a thought! I don't know if anyone is/would like to livetweet this fic -- that's not something I've ever seen in fandoms before this one, so I don't know like... how often people really do it, but I see it referenced a lot? -- or just talk about it on social media, but if so, you can go ahead and use the hashtag #LIAMK, because if you are doing those things, I'd love to see it! You can of course always tag me [@akaparalian](http://twitter.com/akaparalian) on Twitter or [@floralegia](http://floralegia.tumblr.com) on Tumblr as well!
> 
> I'm mostly basing Herondale's characterization in this fic on, you know, Imogen Herondale herself, but I'd be lying if I said she wasn't also a little bit based on my own high school band director in this fic. He was a total asshole and I loved being his student and miss him dearly.
> 
> Today's marching lesson is drum major salutes! Basically, at the beginning of a marching show, it's traditional for the announcer/emcee to give a little spiel about the band who's going to be performing next, and then ask some variation on "Drum major, is the band ready?" The drum major then does a (usually fancy) salute to the judges' box to indicate that, yes, the band is ready, and things go from there! Look up some videos on Youtube if you're curious -- people come up with some really intricate ones.

Alec doesn’t get home until late that afternoon, as the sun is starting to sink into the ground and dip-dye everything golden. He drops Magnus back at his house, first, and walks him all the way up to the front door, and comes so, so, so close to leaning in and kissing him. He’s not honestly sure why he doesn’t do it — beyond the general sense of nervousness, obviously — but the moment feels heavy in a way he wasn’t expecting, standing there on the front porch as an early autumn breeze makes a valiant attempt at chilling them and ruffling Magnus’ dark hair off his forehead.

“I’ll, uh, see you on Monday,” he says instead of leaning in and pressing their lips together. “I had a really good time today. Thanks for… I don’t know. But thanks.”

Magnus laughs quietly at him, a soft chuckle that makes Alec’s toes curl in his shoes. “No, I’m the one who’s supposed to be thanking _you_ ,” he reprimands playfully. “I had a great time. My turn next, right?”

Alec ducks his head slightly to hide his blush and his wild-edged grin, though he’s pretty sure it doesn’t work and Magnus sees them both anyway. Oh well — he’s too busy feeling stupidly pleased to care. _Next time,_ he thinks _._

“Yeah, of course,” he says, then takes a step backwards off the porch because if he doesn’t do that then he has no idea what to do or, worse, what he _will_ do. “Bye, Magnus.”

“Bye,” Magnus calls after him as Alec keeps on walking backwards to his car, not quite able to turn away and break eye contact. He feels silly doing it, but he really, really can’t stop himself. “Text me when you get home.”

“Okay,” Alec says as he opens his car door, standing awkwardly half-in and half-out of the driver’s seat, biting back a laugh at himself even as he does it.

“Okay.”

“Yep.”

“Yes.”

“I’m gonna go now.”

“That’s probably a good idea,” Magnus responds, nodding. “I’m going to go, too. Inside.”

“Text me when you get there,” Alec teases dryly before he can talk himself out of it, and is rewarded by a bright peal of laughter that buoys him as he finally settles himself into his seat and closes the car door. He does wait and watch, though, as Magnus unlocks the door, waves briefly, and then finally goes inside the house. Only once the front door is shut again does Alec start his engine and look behind him to back slowly out into the street.

So he makes his way slowly back to his own neighborhood, and then back through the winding streets to his own house. As he walks up the path to the front door, the same breeze is still trying to cut through him and make him shiver, though it seems like it does a better job of it now that he’s not with Magnus anymore, even though he still has a whole afternoon’s worth of memories to keep him warm.

It’s a bit of a trick to get all of the picnic supplies bundled into his arms securely enough to carry them into the house without dropping anything, but he manages. Izzy’s out, apparently, and he doesn’t hear Max either as he shoulders the door open and makes for the kitchen to drop everything off, and who knows where their parents are. He takes advantage of the empty house by blasting music from his phone as he unpacks the picnic basket, sets the leftovers in the fridge, and loads all the dishes up into the dishwasher — but not until he’s shot off a quick text to Magnus, just _Home_ and, after hesitating over the emoji keyboard for a solid thirty seconds, a plain red heart.

When he’s done, though, and goes up to his room and tries to figure out what to do with the rest of his Saturday, he runs into a problem. It’s as though there’s some lingering adrenaline or excitement from his date keeping him up and moving and constantly distracted, and he can’t make himself settle into doing homework, or reading, or anything that limits him to sitting relatively still. He could go for a run, but it’s just hot enough in the dying embers of the afternoon to make that sound unpleasant. He could pester Izzy or pull Max into a Mario Kart tournament — _those_ always get a little physical by the time someone gets blue-shelled — except that they aren’t _here_.

Alec groans and flops onto his bed, spread-eagled. He’s being ridiculous, and he _knows_ it, but he just — it feels like there’s a little bit of current trapped under his skin, keeping him going, not quite able to settle. God. He should have kissed Magnus, shouldn’t he? Maybe that’s what this is. Maybe he’s going to feel like this for the rest of his life and regret it. Or maybe he shouldn’t have sent that heart emoji. Maybe the second date is way too soon for heart emojis. _This_ , this right here, this is why Alec doesn’t usually use emojis at _all_. There’s this weird culture around it that he doesn’t understand, like apparently there’s this whole second level of meaning to them that he’s just not aware of, and he probably —

When his phone dings, he practically falls off the bed in his effort to dive for it. Magnus — it’s got to be Magnus, right? He actually groans out loud when he sees that it’s from Izzy instead.

_Have you seen this??? He’s quick!_ she sent, with about nine of the heart-eyes emoji, and then the link to an Instagram post.

Alec’s not on Instagram — he _barely_ manages Facebook, and that’s only to keep up with a bunch of people he doesn’t really know that well wishing him a happy birthday every year while he pointedly ignores his relatives’ political views the rest of the time — so the link just opens in his browser when he taps it, and he’s completely unsure what to expect as it loads in. But obviously he recognizes the picnic basket, and the blanket spread out under it, and, perhaps embarrassingly, he’d recognize that little slice of Magnus’ knee in the corner of the frame anywhere.

The shot is mostly focused on the open pizza box, a couple of pieces already gone; Alec honestly isn’t sure how he’d missed Magnus taking the picture, though he does remember getting a bit distracted for a while there, caught up in the moment. Between the play of shadows across the picnic blanket, the way the colors are ever-so-slightly more vivid than he remembers, and the gentle golden cast to the whole thing, looking at the picture is practically a sense memory all its own. Magnus clearly has an eye for this sort of thing, at least as far as Alec can tell.

There’s a caption under it, too, that makes the tips of Alec’s ears heat up. _I went out with an angel today. (He’s not on Insta, so I can talk him up all I want.)_

Alec keeps scrolling, curious, and in doing so stumbles headfirst into the comments.

There aren’t that many, at least not relative to the number of likes he sees listed above them, but there are a few; a username he thinks he recognizes as Izzy’s has left a string of hearts and heart-eyes and… engagement rings? God, Alec’s going to have to remind her about putting the cart before the horse. Or maybe just strangle her. 

Right under that, though, is one that actually makes him frown for a second in confusion. It’s just two words: _How twee._ It takes him a second to parse the username, but then, after a moment of confusion in which he stares down at his phone with his eyebrows knitted together in a frown, Alec realizes that there’s really only one person ‘cbell’ could be.

He screenshots the comment and sends it back to Izzy: _This is Camille, right?_

_Ugh, yes,_ Izzy texts back almost immediately, followed by an emoji that seems to be rolling its eyes. _Just ignore her!_

That was Alec’s plan anyway; he notices that while Magnus has replied to several of the other comments, he’s completely ignored Camille’s. And they broke up over a year ago, as Alec well knows — it was all over the school, after all, and completely impossible to ignore with how much everyone kept talking about it. It’s not like he feels _threatened_ ; Magnus called him an angel on the internet. That’s got to mean something. Still, he almost has to admire Camille’s guts. 

—

There are way more important things to be worrying about, anyway, than what his boyfriend’s ex may or may not be saying about him on Instagram. The weekend was their last, golden moment of freedom, and now it’s over. Monday inevitably rolls around, and brings with it the beginning of the competition crunch.

“Our first competition is in just six days,” Herondale calls out over the sea of assembled students at the beginning of rehearsal Monday afternoon, her tone crisp and steely. “You are not prepared. If you _think_ you are prepared, then you are even less prepared than your classmates who understand that they are not prepared. Today will be our first full dress rehearsal. Please go to the top of the show.”

Rehearsal does not improve much from there.

Everyone seems to be oscillating between fear, irritation, and conviction. The riot of emotions is most clearly visible in the freshmen, who seem to be either all bravado or all meek terror; the seniors, who have been around the block several times by now and are more used to Herondale’s fire-breathing routine, are a bit calmer. Alec — with assistance from Raj and Emma — is left with the task of trying to keep everyone together, which, unfortunately, gets harder the more tired and frustrated everyone gets, and everyone gets more tired and frustrated the more times they run the show.

This isn’t even what the final version of their performance will look like; by regionals, they’ll have added several layers of extra flair. The version that they’re repeating ad nauseum today has all the same bare bones of the hopeful final, glorious version they’ll be playing through in a couple more weeks, but for now, no one’s worried too much about the fine details, things like body movements and extra little punches of drama and display; at the moment, Alec and Emma and Raj and Herondale are just trying to make sure everyone is marching more or less correctly and playing more or less the right notes.

The show itself isn’t exactly going poorly; they’re actually in a pretty good place for this part of the season, in Alec’s opinion. There are still visible errors in the marching from time to time — people missing a step-off or falling off the beat, diagonals that aren’t quite clean, the occasional almost-collision — but they’re mostly minor things, and they don’t seem to be consistent mistakes that happen every time they run through the show, just random accidents that happen because people are human. There seem to be more and more mistakes, actually, the longer rehearsal goes on, as people get more tired and more frustrated, and eventually Herondale seems to get fed up with increasingly poor full runs of the show and barks at them to focus in on a specific segment of the ballad until they get it right.

With five minutes to go until the official end of rehearsal, she makes a dismissive hand signal towards Alec and starts to descend from the tower, not saying a word to the band as she leaves to make her way inside. Alec heaves a sigh and pushes himself up onto the top of the tower in her place. _She could have at least left me the megaphone_ , he thinks sourly as he takes a deep breath to try and project his voice out across the entire practice field.

“All right, everyone, you may not want to believe me, but that was a good rehearsal,” he says, becuase it was, in its own way. “It’s better that we fix this stuff and sweat about it now than on Saturday, when we’re being judged on it.”

He pauses for a moment to glance around; there are still a lot of people who look vaguely downtrodden, but at least a few of the younger kids look comforted, and when he can’t quite stop himself from looking for Magnus in the crowd, he finds him looking back with an encouraging little smile, and has to force himself not to blush as he looks away.

Well. That’s perhaps as good of an overall response as he can hope for. He’s still working on developing the motivational speaking aspect of leadership.

“We’ve still got a few more days to polish it up before Saturday, and we’re already starting from a good place,” Alec continues. “So go home and get some rest, and I’ll see you tomorrow.”

After hesitating for just a second, staring out over the crowd, he nods and moves to climb down from the tower, unsure what else he’s really supposed to say in this situation. 

Emma and Raj are waiting for him on the ground as soon as he makes his way down, the rest of the band already gathering up their water bottles and instrument cases and flowing towards the parking lot or the band hall.

“I’ll give you this,” Raj says as soon as Alec’s feet hit the earth. “You’re still a better motivational speaker than Herondale.”

Emma snorts. “Talk about damning with faint praise.”

“Yeah, thanks, Raj,” Alec says dryly. “Any reason you two needed to corner me in particular?”

“Salute practice,” Raj reminds him. “You made us promise to make you do it on Friday, remember?”

Alec immediately groans. Right. How silly of him to forget.

“Oooooh, did I hear _salute practice?”_ comes an eager voice from somewhere behind Emma, and Alec almost groans again as Raj and Emma part to reveal Magnus (who else?) walking towards them with a flag tossed almost jauntily over his shoulder. “I’m a little mad you didn’t think to bring me on board as a consultant.”

“I’m not _changing_ anything, Magnus, I’m just making sure I can do it without falling over,” Alec complains, fully aware that his cheeks are hot and probably bright red. God. Just what he needs: Magnus to watch him practice something he’s _already_ kind of uncomfortable with. It’s not that he dislikes performing — marching band as a whole is, ultimately, a performing art — but the drum major’s salute is a time when he will be fully in focus, every eye on him, and he’s not used to that. He’s never even had a solo in a marching show. This is a whole new level.

“I can still help with practicing, darling,” Magnus says, bonking him lightly on the hip with his flag pole. “This is definitely more in my wheelhouse than yours.”

Isn’t that the truth. “Fine,” Alec agrees, somewhat reluctantly, looking away, because the way Magnus smiles when he agrees is too much for him to look at right now. “But if you laugh, I’ll…”

“Yes?” Magnus teases, when it’s clear Alec is having trouble coming up with a sufficient threat.

“...just don’t laugh, okay?”

“Alexander, I would _never_ ,” Magnus swears, a hand over his heart, but his voice is still teasing enough that Alec narrows his eyes at him for a second, before sighing and turning back to Emma and Raj.

“Okay, let’s get this over with.”

He climbs back up onto his platform. Emma, Raj, and Magnus array themselves down below, close to the front of the field. 

“And now,” Emma calls up to him in a low, overdramatic voice clearly meant to imitate the standard tone most band competition emcees seem to adopt, “the next band in conference 6A is the New York Institute for Science and Arts Marching Band, presenting their program entitled Facilis Descensus Averno: The Descent Into Hell is Easy. Drum majors Emma Carstairs, Raj Chaudhury, and Alexander Lightwood, is your band ready?”

Alec heaves a sigh, then snaps to attention and immediately starts into the same salute the drum majors have been using for as long as he’s been in the band here. He turns smartly on his heel to face an imaginary judges’ box, folds one arm behind his back, and brings the other up in a sharp arc to his forehead, then back down with a flourish. He turns again, pulling his heels together and raising his arms into his ready position in one smooth motion. He holds it for just a second, chin up and eyes cast out over where the band would be, if this were a real competition and they weren’t all hightailing it home right now. Then he relaxes, eyebrows raised in a ‘Well? How’d I do?’ gesture.

Raj has his arms crossed, squinting up at him. “Seven,” he decides.

“I thought it was at least an eight!” Emma says, sounding a little offended on Alec’s behalf.

They both turn to Magnus, whose face is completely unreadable. He makes all three of them wait for a long second, before he firmly says, “I’d give it a solid six.”

“Only a six?” Alec says, not quite sure whether or not to be insulted. That’s not _that_ bad, and at least it means that surely Magnus isn’t just trying to blow smoke. Alec would rather get a serious evaluation than one that’s just trying to flatter him. Still. Only a six?

“I said a _strong_ six!” Magnus protests. “It’s just so militaristic. Make it… I don’t know, _moodier_. This show is about hell and demons. It’s not the fourth of July parade, you know?”

‘Moodier’ sounds like it may be above Alec’s pay grade. He considers it, looking down at Emma and Raj and Magnus all standing below him; he thinks about the way the band had gotten worse and worse today the more tired they’d gotten, and the way Herondale’s shoulders had gotten more and more tense as the rehearsal wore on. If there’s this _one_ thing that’s fully within his control — and especially given that it will be one of the first things the judges and the audience will see from the band — then shouldn’t he do everything in his power to make it as polished as possible? He might not be able to make every member of the band and guard march their parts perfectly, but he can at least do this.

“Okay,” he sighs, gesturing for Magnus to climb up onto the tower with him. “Can you come show me?”

Magnus’ face is absolutely gleeful as he makes for the bottom of the tower to start climbing up, and Alec can’t quite keep a smile from his face at the sight, even as he’s resigning himself to being at the school quite late tonight. Somehow, he gets the feeling that it might take a while for Magnus to give his performance a full seal of approval, and based on the slightly worried looks Emma and Raj are now exchanging below him, they must be thinking the same thing.

Still, he thinks as Magnus levers himself up next to him and starts into a spiel about using his whole body to convey to the judges what he wants them to _feel_ , there are worse things than this. It’s not exactly a date, especially not with his two junior drum majors third wheeling, but the spark of light in Magnus’ eyes as he talks makes it feel close enough. 


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A band bus bonding session.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi y'all! This chapter was originally supposed to contain the entirety of the competition, but Alec decided to wax poetic, so. *shrug* 
> 
> In case anyone's wildly curious, I broke down the buses as follows:  
> 1\. High brass bus (trumpets and mellophones)  
> 2\. Low brass bus (baritones and sousaphones)  
> 3\. High woodwinds bus (piccolos, flutes, and clarinets)  
> 4\. Saxes & low woodwinds bus (saxophones and bass clarinets)  
> 5\. Percussion & guard bus (drumline, pit, and colorguard)
> 
> And, for clarity, since I know these are instruments a lot of folks might not be familiar with, a [mellophone](https://images-na.ssl-images-amazon.com/images/I/41573g9-GxL._SX425_.jpg) is basically a French horn that's shaped like a trumpet. Since French horns are kinda awkward to carry/march with (normally, when playing you'd rest a horn on your knee, which is obviously kind of hard to do while standing up and moving), a lot of bands will have their horn players march mellphones instead. And a [sousaphone](https://i.ytimg.com/vi/WTqh8ybwEZY/hqdefault.jpg) is the marching variation of a tuba, essentially, worn around the body like it's giving you a big, metal hug. :D So that's your marching band lesson for the day!

It’s early enough in the morning that the exhaust pouring from the backs of the five heaving yellow school buses, in states of disrepair ranging from ‘relatively new’ to ‘has definitely been in an accident,’ blends seamlessly into the still-gray sky. It’s competition day, and, as Alec slips up the steps into the second-to-last bus idling outside the band hall doors, juggling his backpack and the garment bag that contains his uniform, he kind of feels like the Mission Impossible music should be following in his wake.

It’s not like it’s _that_ big of a deal that he rides on the bus shared by the color guard and the percussionists. Technically, the drum majors don’t have an assigned bus, unlike literally ever other member of the band; it’s not like this is something he’s going to get in trouble with Herondale over. It’s just that, since he’s been a trumpet player for forever, everyone’s probably assuming that he’ll be riding with the trumpets on the high brass bus, the way Emma’s riding with the saxes and Raj is riding with the clarinets, and he _has_ ridden on the high brass bus to every football game they’ve had so far. But he woke up this morning bound and made up his mind to do it differently this time around.

And when everyone notices that he’s not on the ‘right’ bus — and they _will_ notice, because band kids are, in fact, more gossip-obsessed than any other demographic Alec has ever known, they just hide it a little under the sheen of geekery — it will be patently obvious _why_ he’s not, and he knows everyone already _knows_ he and Magnus are dating and all, but that doesn’t mean he wants to be _constantly reminding them_ , and…

Well. The chorus of soft gasps and snickers when his head pops up over the top of the first row of seats and the people already on the bus start to notice him is a bit concerning.

But then he hears a bright, “Alec!” that overrides his flutter of dread at the knowledge that he’ll definitely be being gossiped about in the very foreseeable future, and he makes his way towards Magnus — at the very back of the bus, of course; he should have known — with all the confidence of a man who doesn’t _care_ that he’ll definitely be being gossiped about in the very foreseeable future.

“Hey,” he says, when he gets within a couple of rows of Magnus. “This seat taken?”

Magnus gives the worn vinyl bench seat two swift pats. “Definitely not.”

It takes a little juggling to get everything sorted — their two garment bags both hooked into the inch of open space where Magnus has lowered the window just slightly, Magnus’ duffle at their feet and his makeup kit balanced on his lap, Alec’s backpack shoved between his knees — but they manage it, and when they finally conquer the logistics of cramming themselves into a school bus seat that wasn’t really designed with two full-size humans _and_ quite a lot of marching gear in mind, Alec turns as much as he can in his seat to look across at Magnus. He looks disgustingly good for this early in the morning, let _alone_ this early on the morning of their first competition of the season; Alec feels like he’s already put out seven fires, and his hair probably looks like a tornado ran through it. Sure, Magnus holds dominion over a much smaller number of people than he does, but still.

“You look disturbingly put together,” he comments. Magnus raises one eyebrow.

“What do you mean? I don’t even have my makeup on yet.”

“You don’t look like you’ve had to solve nearly as many crises as I have this morning,” Alec elaborates, and Magnus laughs when he gets it. “What, are the color guard just more house-trained than the rest of the band?”

“Yes,” Magnus agrees, nodding sagely. “I put the fear of God into them well in advance. There’s a manageable number of them, which makes it easier to convince all of them to listen to me and get their shit together, though it still takes some doing.”

“Love you too, Mags,” someone calls from a few rows down, and Alec flushes a little at the reminder that they’re very much surrounded by potentially eager listeners. 

“I might could use a few tips on that,” he sighs, leaning back against his seat and only exaggerating his slumped shoulders a little bit. “One of the freshmen forgot her sousaphone. Her _sousaphone_. Like, a flute, or something, I could get. It’s easy enough to think that it’s in your bag and you’re just not seeing it and then you only realize later that it’s missing. But how do you misplace a _sousa?_ ”

“Dear God,” Magnus laughs, wincing in sympathy. “Did she have to go home and get it?”

“Her mom brought it, I think.” Honestly, as soon as he’d heard enough to be sure that the problem was being handled, he’d checked out, and moved on to frying other fish. “I just hope this isn’t some kind of… you know, omen.”

“Don’t be silly. Things are always crazy before competitions, _especially_ the first competition.”

Magnus has a point, and Alec really appreciates the effort — especially the warmth in his voice and the way he manages to sound soothing without being patronizing — but still. “Sure, but it’s never been _my_ crazy to deal with before. I’m used to just sitting on my bus and ignoring everyone else’s bullshit.”

“You’re doing fine, Alexander, I promise,” Magnus says. “Don’t you think Herondale would have come to yell at you by now if you weren’t?” 

Alec pauses to consider that. That’s… logical enough, and true enough, that it actually does calm him down quite a bit. If there’s anything he knows without a doubt that he can trust in this world, it’s Ms. Herondale’s inability to stomach even a whiff of incompetence. 

“Fair point,” he allows, and shoots Magnus a small, slightly crooked smile to show his gratitude.

He kind of appreciates, too, that Magnus hasn’t asked why he’s here and not on the trumpet bus, hasn’t made a big deal out of it. It’s not that he’d be particularly upset if he had, but the way that Magnus just matter-of-factly folded him into his space on the bus and welcomed him into his little bubble of sanity and composure, something Alec sorely needed. It’s… It’s really nice. The easy familiarity and casual comfort of it settle over him and make a fair effort at untangling the little knot of band-related anxiety in his chest.

It’s a long bus ride — a good few hours — from the Institute to the school that’s hosting the competition, so when the buses finally pull away from the curb and get underway, Alec settles into his seat for the long haul. There’s a certain level of pseudo-academic curiosity to the way he looks around at the rest of the bus; he’s only ever been on one before, and there’s definitely some truth to the idea that different sections within the band have totally different atmospheres. The high brass bus — or, at least, the trumpet half of it; the mellophones mostly gave of an air to Alec of vaguely tolerating the trumpets’ nonsense, and not much else — was always rowdy. Someone usually had a Bluetooth speaker blasting pump-up music, and people were shouting over that to be heard, and Jace typically ended up leading some sort of cheer about how they were going to destroy the other bands that would have fit in better in a locker room. Alec has spent the past three years with his earbuds firmly jammed into his ears, trying to ignore the hubbub, and based on all the stereotypes about color guard, he was more or less expecting this bus to be the same.

There _is_ music playing, but it’s a little more chill than the usual trumpet fare, and definitely quieter. People are chatting, but at reasonable volumes, and whenever someone gets too loud, someone else generally tells them to shut up, instead of just yelling over them at an even louder volume. Towards the front of the bus, the drumline are chattering and sometimes beating out rhythms onto the backs of seats; even farther up, if Alec squints over the rows of heads and backs, he can just make out the pit, who, true to their reputation as one of the quietest, nerdiest groups in the band, seem to be mostly playing cards or reading. The overall atmosphere, Alec decides, is almost comfortable.

God, he’s been living in the wild with the trumpets all this time and never even realized it. _This_ is civilization.

“I’m never riding with the trumpets again,” he mutters to Magnus, about an hour into their journey.

Magnus smiles smugly. “I thought you might say something like that.”

They pass the time talking together about nothing in particular, and, as the trip wears on, slowly melting into each other more and more, going from shoulders pressed up against each other to Magnus folded up in his seat, knees against the back of the seat in front of him, with his head on Alec’s shoulder, and then from that to Magnus curled up almost impossibly small with his head in Alec’s _lap_. It takes twenty minutes into _that_ arrangement for Alec to work up the nerve to card his fingers gently through his hair, but the small, satisfied noise Magnus makes when he does makes it totally worth it.

It almost comes as a shock when he glances down at his phone and realizes they’ve already been on the road for two hours. It’s just another hour or so until they need to start seriously preparing for arrival; he’s not looking forward to trying to get into his uniform in the already tightly-packed environment, but then, he never does. 

“What time is it?” Magnus asks, and when Alec tells him, he hums consideringly. “We should start getting ready soon, then.”

Alec’s confused for a second, his brow furrowing, but then Magnus idly taps the top of his makeup kit and he gets it. The color guard doesn’t just have to get into uniform, like everyone else; they have to put on stage makeup, too. He’s never really thought about it that hard, and he’s definitely never seen it in action — they always come off the bus ready to go, just like everyone else. It seems obvious, now that he thinks about it, that they’d have to put the makeup on on the bus, but he’d just never actually thought about it before now.

“Is that hard?” he asked, gesturing down at the hard-top box that had Magnus’ name printed neatly on it in Sharpie. “With, you know, the bus moving. Izzy always complains when she tries to do her eyeliner in the car.”

“Eh,” Magnus says, shrugging. “You get used to it. And we’re not doing anything too complicated, really. It has to be bold enough to be seen from the field.”

Alec supposes that makes sense, but he… well, he wouldn’t really know. He blinks, mouth hanging open while he tries to think of a reply that sounds at least halfway intelligent, and Magnus laughs lightly at him.

“You’ll see,” he says, patting Alec’s arm reassuringly. “You’ve got a backstage pass today.”

And sure enough, about half an hour later, Magnus stands up to get the guard’s attention and says, “All right, time to start getting ready.” Immediately, there’s a flurry of motion around them — he really _has_ put the fear of God into them, Alec thinks with some amusement — and the music playing in the background disappears for a moment, only to be replaced with a new song, more uptempo, as the clicking and zipping and un-snapping sounds of a dozen makeup kits being opened fills the air.

Alec ends up scrolling mindlessly on his phone for the next fifteen minutes or so, because he, quite frankly, has no idea what else to do. Magnus is totally absorbed in his work, and while it’s kind of really fascinating to watch his face slowly transform right before Alec’s eyes, it feels creepy to just sit there and stare at him, so he settles for glancing up every couple of minutes to see what new progress is being made. To go with the theme of their show, the guard uniform and makeup are dark and dramatic: crimson lipstick and heavy black eye makeup that’s teetering just on the edge of looking goth. Once Magnus’ makeup is done, he clambers physically over Alec so that he can get into the aisle and make the rounds to check that his underlings are all doing okay, too, and that none of them need his help. They seem to have it mostly handled, though, and soon enough he’s climbing right back over Alec again.

“Are you going to get dressed soon?” he asks as he drops back into place, and Alec looks down at his phone consideringly. 

“Yeah, probably,” he says. “We should probably take turns. Mind if I go first?”

“By all means,” Magnus says, and passes him his garment bag.

Alec tries to be quick about it, stripping out of his t-shirt and basketball shorts to leave just the compression wear underneath, a tight-fitting top and shorts designed to provide the building blocks for his uniform. He’s a little self-conscious about it, because most of the guard hasn’t started to change yet, but the fact that they’re not means that he’s got more room out in the aisle to struggle into his gear, so whatever. First come the bibbers, basically glorified black overalls, and then the jacket; he has to turn around and have Magnus help him zip up the back, which is normally Jace’s job. Magnus makes far fewer “I’ll do you if you do me” jokes than Jace, though, so he’s definitely Alec’s new favorite zipper assistant. He doesn’t really want to put his gloves and gauntlets on yet, so he settles for just holding onto them for now and switching places with Magnus, who’s now clutching his own uniform bag.

Magnus doesn’t even have to tell the guard to start changing; they take him getting started as some sort of signal, and all at once the aisles and seats are crammed full of people wriggling their way into their uniforms. The guard uniform is, of course, all done in red and black: black tights under a blood-red tunic with an asymmetrical hem and slashes of black over the chest. There’s only one sleeve of semi-transparent nylon. 

The guard finishes dressing with a few minutes to spare, and Magnus flops back down next to Alec, who’s scooted over to take the window seat rather than having to deal with the unnecessary complication of getting up or else having Magnus climb over him again just so they can get back to their original arrangement. 

“You ready?” Magnus asks as he perches on the bench seat next to Alec, looking entirely too good in his overall dramatic costume. It suits him, really, Alec thinks. 

He considers the question for a moment. It’s his first competition as drum major, so, no, of course he’s not fucking ready. But on the other hand… In a similar vein to Magnus’ earlier point, if she thought he wasn’t ready, Herondale would have been on his ass way more than she has been. Of course she has been a _little_ , that’s just how she is, but not nearly as much as she would have been if _she_ thought he wasn’t ready. And if their notoriously hard-assed band director thinks he’s prepared, then maybe he should give himself a little more credit?

“We’ll see,” he decides on eventually, just as the bus pulls into an unfamiliar parking lot and slowly creaks to a stop.

Magnus nods, his mouth set in a determined little smirk. “I guess we will.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more note: [this](https://awctcolorguard.com/media/ecom/prodlg/Guard/G740_A.jpg) is basically what I'm picturing for the guard uniform, just less sparkly.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A preliminary performance and some stadium snacking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (This was the most I've struggled with the alliterative chapter summaries so far. Still not really all that sure why I'm doing that; it just sort of happened? I think it's fun!)
> 
> Hey guys, sorry this one's a little late! I had to really build the suspense over the performance, ooooooh... jk, it's just because I usually write, edit, and post these updates during my Sunday night shift at work, except this past Sunday work decided it wanted to just be on fire all evening and I was running around trying to stop it from doing that. So. 
> 
> Reminder that if you want to livetweet/yell at me about this fic/swap headcanons for what instruments as-yet-unmentioned SH/TSC characters might play/tell "one time at band camp..." stories, you can use the hashtag #LIAMK on Twitter, or come find me [@akaparalian](http://twitter.com/akaparalian)!

The rush of motion and chaos tears Alec and Magnus in completely different directions as soon as their feet touch ground. Magnus immediately starts herding the guard in one direction, off in search of flat, open ground somewhere where they can start doing yoga and warmups, and Alec starts making the rounds to all the different sections, making sure everyone’s unloading their instruments and putting out small fires as they come up. The buses are all parked in a row next to each other in the back parking lot of the school that’s hosting this competition, far away from the football field where they’ll be performing. The section leaders seem to have things pretty well in hand, so before long he seeks out Emma and Raj, and the three of them knot together to do their own preparation.

They run through the show several times, standing together in a little triangle and conducting to the harsh beat of the metronome, their arms slicing through the air in quick, sure patterns: _one-two-three-four, one-two-three-four, one-two-three-four_ … They practice every tempo change, every shift in meter, and Alec keeps his stare locked into the middle distance between their six hands, not looking at the details, just tracking the motion.

Herondale calls the whole band together for a warm-up with three short blasts of a whistle, and they form up near the busses in a cramped little bunch rather than in their usual warm-up formation, because space is at a bit of a premium. They have an hour left until they need to be lining up to the side of the field, so she warms them up slowly; after about twenty minutes, she hands it off to Alec, and he takes them through a couple of sections of the show at her direction. He’s practicing them just as much as the band is, giving himself one last pre-performance rehearsal before he has to get out there and stand in front of everyone and, hopefully, not look like too much of an idiot waving his hands around.

Distantly, he can hear the sound of the bands that are currently performing; he tries to tune them out, to focus on their band — _his_ band — but it’s hard, and he catches himself starting to speed up or slow down his conducting to synch up with other bands a couple of times and has to very firmly pull back to the right tempo. It’s just nerves, he tells himself, and besides, it won’t be an issue during their performance, because he shouldn’t be able to hear anyone else then. He tries not to listen to the little voice that whispers that if it _is_ just nerves, it’s only going to get worse when it’s time to actually perform.

And then suddenly he’s yanked from his thoughts after he signals the band to stop their most recent run-through by Herondale’s whistle and her crisp, stern voice saying, “All right, it’s time.”

That’s all she says, just four words, and then she turns and walks away. Section leaders start organizing their underlings to follow her, and Alec immediately trails behind her, trusting Emma and Raj to herd the band behind them. He’s supposed to be at the front, to lead them down to the field.

He tries to remind himself that he’s done this before, many times, that this really isn’t any different from any other competition he’s ever performed at, even though he’s always been out on the field, before, rather than up on the podium. If anything, this is a low-pressure show, at the beginning of the season when no one is really expecting a fully polished performance yet; even Herondale doesn’t expect this to be perfect. After all, the show isn’t even really _complete_ yet — there are still elements they haven’t even worked on in rehearsal at this point in the season, body movements and other little pieces of polish that won’t come until the bones of the show are really, truly in place.

He’s repeating these things over and over again like a mantra as he stands just off the side of the field, taking his place for the march-in. Behind him, the band forms up in rank and file, neat lines ready to move out onto the field as soon as they’re told that they can. Alec’s got his eyes shut tight for just a moment, trying to envision a successful run of the show — not _perfect,_ just successful — when he feels a touch on his shoulder. 

“Hey,” Jace says quietly when Alec turns, grinning that trademark Jace grin. He’s not where he’s supposed to be, and Alec should really tell him to get back in line, but he doesn’t, because he didn’t even really realize how much tension he was carrying in his shoulders until it starts to bleed out of him, just a little bit, at Jace’s smile.

“Hey,” he echoes, furrowing his brows. “You need something?”

“Nah.” Jace shakes his head easily, still smiling, and claps him lightly on the arm. “I just thought maybe you’d be freaking out a little and need someone to come up here and tell you that you’re going to do fine. Seriously. You’ve been obsessively practicing this show for months now.”

Alec rolls his eyes, but he can’t quite stop himself from smiling. Jace’s stupid dopey grins are contagious, which is something he well knows after years of friendship; it’s not _his_ fault. He considers some sort of sarcastic response, but this is _Jace_ , who’s known him basically forever, and, well. He _was_ freaking out a little. So instead, he just says, “Thanks. Now get in line before Herondale yells at you.”

Jace snorts and shoves at him lightly. “Okay, okay. You know, maybe you can use that stick up your ass to conduct, huh? Judges might give you extra points for presentation.”

“Bite me, Jace,” Alec tells him dryly, and Jace cheerfully flips him off as he heads back over to take up his place in line.

“Pretty sure Magnus would get jealous!” he calls over his shoulder, and, of course, several heads turn at that, no doubt in search of gossip. Whatever; Alec can deal with _that_ later. Right now, he’s got work to do.

The band currently on the field finishes their show, and clapping and cheers erupt from the stands as the last note cuts off. The announcer’s voice, slightly muffled because the speakers are angled away from where Alec and the band are standing, is calling them off the field, listing off the names of the band staff and the principle of their school as the drumline starts up a cadence and the band starts to leave the field. Alec gets just a second to stare out at the empty field, green turf and crisp white lines extending out in front of him, before Ms. Herondale signals the captain of the drumline with a nod. There’s a _dut, dut, dut-dut-dut_ from the snare before the whole drumline bursts into their own familiar cadence and the band steps out onto the field as one.

They march out to the back of the field, and Alec, Emma, and Raj conduct the band through one last sound check at Herondale’s direction, making sure everyone is in tune and they sound good in the vast open space of the field; the acoustics of it are quite different from the parking lot. But that only takes a moment, and then, after one last, brief pause, all standing shoulder-to-shoulder in a block and breathing together, everyone breaks at once to take their positions for the start of the show.

Alec takes a deep breath, turns, and makes for his podium at the front of the field.

His legs are shaking as he climbs the ladder, but his head is clear, and his hands are steady when he gets to his position. From up here, the band taking their starting positions looks almost like a flower slowly blooming, their tight little march-in block spreading out to cover almost the entire field, people scattered all over, more or less evenly, but not in any sort of pattern. Meanwhile, the guard are taking up their starting spots just off the field, along the front; Magnus is in Alec’s peripheral, starting near the 20 yard line to his right. But Alec can’t focus on him right now. He watches the whole field, carefully appraising the band’s readiness as he stands at attention. Finally, everyone stills, spread out on the field, and the speakers behind Alec’s podium crackle to life as the announcer starts to speak.

“The next band in conference 6A is the New York Institute for Science and Arts marching band, performing their 2018 program Facilis Descensus Averno: The Descent Into Hell is Easy,” the emcee intones, voice serious and crisp and just a little performative. Alec can hear his own pulse pounding in his ears. “Drum majors Emma Carstairs, Raj Chaudhury, and head drum major Alexander Lightwood, is your band ready?”

Alec takes a deep breath, hears Magnus’ voice in his head telling him to make it “moodier,’ and steps into his salute, arms moving in perfect synchronicity as he turns to face the judges’ box. When he finishes, arms falling back down to his sides before he turns back to the band, a little cheer goes up, just for him. It’s surprising; not every drum major salute gets a reaction from the crowd. He has to bite back a grin.

“You may begin your performance when ready,” the announcer says, and, feeling every breath as though he’s about to burst out of the confines of his uniform, Alec raises his hands.

_One,_ he signals, a smooth downward sweep. _Two. One-two-three-four…_

On the next downbeat he conducts, the field is overtaken by motion and the thin, reedy sound of a single oboe, amplified by a microphone clipped to the end of the bell. The band itself is frozen, eyes downcast and shoulders hunched as they wait, still as corpses. But the guard is moving, their uniforms bright slashes of red against the black-and-silver of the band’s bibs and jackets. They weave through the band, quick, fluttering footsteps to the tempo Alec’s conducting, stopping occasionally to trail a hand across someone’s shoulder or brush up against their side. But then, slowly, the guard freezes too, finding positions facing the back of the field, heads down and legs trailing behind them. 

The unsettling, tremulous oboe fades out, and there’s a heavy moment of silence and stillness. The whole stadium seems to be holding its breath. Alec and Emma and Raj are the only ones moving, the only hint of life on the field.

And then, all at once, the band straightens and snaps to attention, and the hornline starts off a trilling run that quickly crescendos into a powerful, brassy hit as the show _really_ starts.

That first big moment sings in Alec’s veins; he’s trying his best to focus, to tune out anything and everything that isn’t the music and his own hands, but he can hear the appreciation coming from the crowd as the band somehow sorts itself into neat lines and tight forms, a far cry from the loose spread they’d started out in. The snap and catch of the guard’s flags occasionally cuts through the music in quiet moments — or maybe he’s just imagining it because he knows it’s there, even if it’s covered up by the band — and he feels his breath catch as he watches the whole color guard go into their first key toss, the one Magnus has complained about to him more times than he can count, the one Herondale has called them out on in front of the band at practically every other rehearsal, the one that, Alec knows, will set the tone in this first show for whether or not the guard are going to be coming at this performance with confidence, or whether they’ll be shaken. And they _make_ it. Only one person drops, that Alec can see, and even then she manages to recover pretty smoothly. Not bad, for their first time doing this in front of a crowd, where it really counts.

As they transition from the intro to the opener, the music gets darker and lower, full of rich low brass, with timpani and low reeds adding texture over the top, counterbalanced by shrill, uneasy bursts from the flutes — but then at the top of the ballad, the high winds take over, flutes and clarinets coming to the fore in an arc that bends in on itself, becoming a ring, and then flattening into a half-circle again, as they take over the bulk of the sound.

The ballad is more mournful, not at all like the chaos and disarray of the intro. The guard swaps out their red flags for black, shot through with little streaks of silver that look like rain when they’re moving. There’s a rifle solo coming up, too — not Magnus’; he gave it to some junior instead. Alec doesn’t really know her, but she makes the toss, the heavier _thud_ of the rifle hitting her palm as she crosses over the 50 yard line easily audible from Alec’s podium.

Dear God, he catches himself thinking, thoughts slipping through his mind like water even as he keeps his hands steady. They’re already reaching the end of the ballad — they’re already almost to the closer. They’re already almost _done_. 

And sure enough, the band moves smoothly into the closer. Alec’s hands start flying faster; the closer works at a much faster tempo than the ballad, and as the bright brassy tone of the trumpets starts to layer itself in over top of the flutes once more, individual horns coming in one by one until they’re taking up more and more of the sound, he feels himself start to smile. The intro and opener are confusion and darkness, the ballad is grief, and this — this is descending into hell and emerging triumphant, glorious and terrible. 

Frankly, he’s still not really sure what the drill designer was smoking when they wrote this show, but damn if he hasn’t grown to love it. The very first time he heard the mockup of the music they’d be playing, he’d known this show would be something special, and at the time it had been tinny and computer-generated, nothing at all like the full, rich sound that’s hitting him now. They’re not quite finished, yet, so he shouldn’t count his chickens, but — holy _shit_.

By the time he conducts the last note, cutting the band off with a sharp jerk of his hands as the crowd erupts behind him, he’s smiling so wide under his shako that he feels like his cheeks might burst.

—

As soon as they’re off the field, Herondale calls them together to debrief before turning them loose on the concessions stands and the stadium so they can watch the rest of the bands perform. She, of course, is quick to remind them all that the performance was far from perfect — but she also says it was “perfectly adequate for a first competition,” which is practically glowing praise, so Alec can’t even find it in himself to have his mood dimmed.

Alec lets himself be carried along by the herd as they all make their way back to the busses to change out of their uniforms. By the time he’s taking the stairs of the guard bus two at a time, almost everyone else has already beaten them there, and quite a few people are already come and gone altogether, streaming across the parking lot and back towards the stands. But the one person on this bus he actually cares about seeing at the moment is waiting for him, still a little pink-cheeked from the exertion of the show and grinning from ear to ear.

“Herondale can shove it,” Magnus says as Alec makes his way toward him, stepping carefully over duffle bags and backpacks and the odd flagpole. “That was fucking _amazing_ for our first go.”

“It felt good,” Alec agrees, sliding in next to him. He means to say more — he’s practically _bursting_ with the need to overanalyze every single detail that he can remember from the performance, and he’s relatively confident that Magnus will humor him on it — but before he can, Magnus is reeling him in by the back of his neck and kissing him, a shower of little pecks on the lips that leave him reeling. 

Something about those kisses tells him that they’re the _least_ of what Magnus wants to do, that if they were a little more alone and a lot less likely to get caught, he might pull Alec even closer and kiss him for real. The thought — not to mention the mental image — makes Alec’s heart pound.

But Magnus pulls away pretty quickly, and says, “Get changed. I’m making you buy me nachos.’

They make their way to the stadium as soon as Alec’s changed out of his uniform, and Magnus does, in fact, make a beeline for the concession stand. Alec gets them _both_ nachos, the kind with the really fluorescent-looking cheese sauce that are a staple of pretty much every sporting event he’s ever been too, and they carry them up into the stands, trying to find a good place to sit and watch the remainder of the performances. 

Most of the _really_ good spots are taken; the stands aren’t packed, because this is a marching band competition, not a big football game, and it’s just the start of the season anyway, but the area around the 50 yard line is just crowded enough to deter them. Magnus leads the way all the way up to the very top of the stands, and they find some good seats around the 30 on the right side of the field. Magnus tears into his nachos with all the gusto of someone who’s just done a burst of very intense physical activity to music, while throwing around somewhat ungainly pieces of equipment; Alec eats his more slowly. He’s hungry, but he’s still buzzing from the high of their performance so much that his stomach feels a little unsettled.

“You should have _seen_ it from where I was standing,” he says, as they watch a band perform what seems to be an astronomy-themed show. “It’s so different from being up in the stands _or_ down on the field. And it’s never been quite like that before. It was incredible.”

“It felt amazing from where I was, too,” Magnus replies, hastily swallowing down a mouthful of food. “I mean, Herondale does _kind_ of have a point — it wasn’t perfect, and we can definitely do better. But still, it felt... “ He trails off, gesturing aimlessly with a tortilla chip that’s threatening to drip cheese onto his pants.

“Yeah,” Alec agrees, shuffling a little closer to him, knocking their knees together lightly. Magnus leans immediately into the touch, so Alec leans in a little, too, until they’re pressed so close together that it makes eating a little hard. Still, especially as he’s just now starting to come down from his adrenaline high, he wouldn’t trade that press of contact for the world. “I know exactly what you mean.”


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A panic and a plan (and a paternal parley).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Man, I might just make Wednesdays my new regular update day at this rate. I'm gonna try to get back to Sundays this next week, but we'll see.
> 
> Also? Bandtober is real, y'all. It is real and it is _rough._ Junior year of high school, I went straight from Bandtober to NaNoWriMo, which only worked because I'd just moved halfway across the country and had no friends, and even then, it was rough.
> 
> There's bonus content at the end that you won't wanna miss!

Monday is going _great_ until the crackling voice of the principal over the PA system reading out the announcements in third period marks Alec’s sudden but inevitable doom.

“Homecoming tickets will go on sale starting Friday at lunch in the Student Council room,” Principal Penhallow says, and Alec feels his entire body freeze up in sudden horror. “Tickets will be $30 for couples, or $20 each for singles…”

Alec isn’t really paying attention to the announcements anymore, because he’s too busy having a death grip on his pencil and staring blankly down at his desk. He hasn’t even _thought_ about homecoming. He has a brand new boyfriend who he likes a hell of a lot, and homecoming has not even crossed his mind. He has no plan, no idea what to do, and even if he did, there’s no way he’d be able to pull off one of those crazy homecoming proposals that inevitably go viral and get passed around on the internet every year, or even come up with a particularly clever sign. That’s probably the kind of thing Magnus would be super into, because Magnus definitely has an eye for the dramatic, and he stands _no_ chance of making that happen.

There’s only one person who can help him now.

“Homecoming,” he blurts as soon as he slams his backpack down next to Isabelle’s a few minutes after the lunch bell rings.

Izzy turns to face him slowly, a sly smile curving over her lips. “I was wondering when you’d show up to ask for my help about that. You totally forgot until the announcement this morning, huh?”

Alec was expecting a little teasing — and frankly, he’s earned it; it’s not like there haven’t been posters up all over school for weeks now — but he still frowns at her. He’s already making a sacrifice by coming to the science wing to find her at lunchtime instead of staying in the band hall to get work done like he normally does, and he’s her flesh and blood, here in a time of great personal need. He’d hope she could at _least_ be nice about the fact that he doesn’t really have any idea how to do any of the not-quite-defined-but-definitely-expected _stuff_ that comes with dating, and especially with dating in high school.

“Yes,” he admits, flopping down next to her on the little bench outside the bio room. The science wing is nice; there’s actually some seating outside the classrooms, and a little central area between them where people hang out before and after school, at lunch, and between classes. The band hall, orchestra room, choir room, and art room are just on a regular old hallway, though he supposes the rooms themselves are quite a bit larger and more specialized. It’s a give and take. “And I’m kind of freaking out, so if you could keep the snark to a minimum…”

She hits him on the arm, rolling her eyes. “Oh, please, you’ve earned a little snark for letting it go this long. And you shouldn’t be freaking out, because as long as you actually remember to ask in _some_ form or fashion, Magnus will probably be satisfied. God knows why, but I’m pretty sure he’s into you enough that he’d even say yes if you asked him over text.”

“I’m not going to ask him over _text!”_ Alec protests. God, it’s good to know his sister has such faith in him. Besides, texting is weird and stressful enough as it is. At least if he asks Magnus in person, he won’t have to think hard about which emojis to use and how much text speech makes him sound cool and informal instead of like he just doesn’t care.

“Of course you’re not,” Izzy says soothingly, though she rolls her eyes at him again. “I’m just saying that I think you’re making way too big a deal out of this. He’s going to say yes, you just need to ask him.”

“Right, but asking people to homecoming is like a — a — a thing. You know, with like… posters and flash mobs and stuff.”

“Flash mobs?”

Alec nods a little defensively. He definitely didn’t Google “homecoming proposal” between third and fourth period and then watch a bunch of compilations on YouTube, but if he had, he’d definitely have found a _lot_ of flash mobs.

Isabelle tips her head skyward and sighs as though she’s being asked to do something a lot more challenging than help out her beloved older brother. “God give me patience,” she mutters, then rolls her head around on her neck to look back at Alec. “Please do not attempt a flash mob. I guarantee that Magnus does not want you to attempt a flash mob. I certainly don’t want to be party to you attempting a flash mob.”

“That’s kind of a relief,” Alec admits, not wanting to fully cop to how worried he was about the idea that a flash mob might be the kind of thing Isabelle would suggest he do. “But what about, you know, the signs with the little puns or whatever?”

Izzy hums. “That’s more doable, maybe, but I’m serious, Alec — all you need to do is ask. Take him out on a date, or surprise him somewhere, and ask him if he wants to go to homecoming with you. It’s not _actually_ that complicated.” She pauses, then adds, “And if you’re going to be the one asking, then you should buy the tickets, but that can be a problem for later.”

“I think I can probably manage that,” he says, but he’s still feeling a little dubious. “Are you sure, though? I mean, I feel like I’m doing okay with the dates and stuff so far, but homecoming’s kind of a big deal, right? And Magnus, he’s, you know…”

“Dramatic? Lively? Vivacious?”

Vivacious? Alec shoots her a confused look. “I was thinking ‘special,’ but also dramatic, yeah. I mean, I’m… we’re really different, you know? I’m not good at that kind of thing. Magnus _could_ do a flash mob, and it would even probably be amazing and he’d go viral on Snapchat or whatever.”

“You can’t really go viral on — no, no, it’s not worth it,” Izzy cuts herself off with another put-upon sigh. “Look, Alec. I’m sure Magnus _could_ do a great flash mob, but he _wouldn’t_. Not for you. Because he knows that’s not the kind of thing you’d ever do or enjoy. I mean, that would freak you out, right?” 

Alec shoots her a look that very clearly reads ‘Obviously.’

“Right. So he wouldn’t.” Izzy shrugs. “And he doesn’t expect you to, either. I can literally ask him, if you want, but you can trust me on this one.”

He considers that. Izzy hasn’t steered him wrong so far, and she’s definitely better at all this relationship stuff than he is, both by virtue of having more practice (which is to say, having _any_ practice) and just generally being better at people. And she’s known Magnus for longer than he has, too, and… and the more Alec thinks about it, the more he not only _wants_ to believe her, because it’s an incredible relief to be told that he doesn’t actually need to be panicking about having to do something so completely and totally outside his comfort zone, but the more he really does think she’s probably right. Magnus isn’t the kind of guy who would want Alec to bend himself out of shape just to please him, especially not for something as ultimately silly as a homecoming proposal.

“Okay,” Alec says slowly. “Okay. So. So I’m just going to… like, just say, ‘Magnus, would you like to go to homecoming with me?””

“I think that’s a great start,” Izzy agrees, smiling at him with no small degree of relief. “Do you guys have any plans in the next couple of weeks? Like, dates? You could do it then.”

Alec shakes his head. “Bandtober,” he says.

After four years of watching him be in band, that’s all the explanation Izzy needs. She nods, making a small noise of understanding. She knows well enough by now how insane Alec’s schedule is for the entire month of October, between rehearsals, competitions, and practicing on his own. And Magnus’ is just as bad, if not worse; there’s a whole nebulous list of other stuff the guard does that Alec’s only vaguely aware of, extra practices and group activities and things. They’re not _quite_ to the full-court press of Bandtober yet, but things are definitely ramping up, and he and Magnus have had to forego spending a whole lot of non-band-related time together.

“Okay, then what about doing it at a competition or something?” Izzy suggests, but this time Alec’s shaking his head before she’s even finished speaking, his nose wrinkling up in distaste.

“No way in hell,” he says. “Band kids are way too gossipy, and there are already enough eyes on us. That’s not… that’s just not something I want to even _think_ about.”

“Oh, come on, you’ll make out with him in the band hall, but you won’t do something completely chaste, like asking him to a dance, where people might see?” 

“We were in a practice room, behind a closed door!” Alec protests. “And — and I didn’t _know_ it was going to happen!” He totally had known that time in the uniform room was going to happen, or he’d at least had a pretty good idea, but Izzy doesn’t need to know that. Especially considering he’s pretty sure she’s not even aware that the time in the uniform room had happened at all. 

“ _Sure_ ,” she says, drawing the vowel out for a horrendously long time. “Whatever. I’ll let you have your denial. Fine, so nothing band-related. Magnus is involved in other activities, too. What if you — _oh!_ Wait! I’ve got it!”

Alec just raises his eyebrows at her, more than a little wary. She sounds _very_ excited about whatever idea she’s just had, which either bodes very well for him or very, very poorly. 

She seems to be waiting for him to ask, though, biting her lip with excitement. When he stays silent, she rolls her eyes and says, “SciOly!” 

Oh. That — that actually _is_ a good idea. Isabelle and Magnus aside, a lot of the kids on the Scientific Olympiad team are more on Alec’s side of the social equation, as in, not exactly gossip-mongers. There’s _some_ overlap with the band, but not enough that he feels nervous about it in the same way that he feels wary of asking Magnus at a band competition, and Magnus definitely won’t be expecting to see him there; SciOly isn’t exactly a spectator sport. It will be — he hopes — a nice surprise.

“Okay,” he says, slowly, and Izzy grins in triumph, clasping her hands together. “Okay, that cold definitely work. What did you have in mind?”

—

Alec’s almost late to his next class, and by the time he gets there, he already has a long string of texts from Izzy, even though he _just_ left her to sprint down to his classroom. She’s already thinking about what he should wear and, apparently, planning him a Victorian flower language bouquet to give to Magnus that will convey some sort of meaning about young love and hopefulness, or something. It’s a little bit lost on Alec, but he has to admit that the pictures of flowers she’s sent him are _very_ pretty, and Magnus… Magnus deserves pretty things.

He’s still thinking about it when he gets home that night after rehearsal; Izzy’s out, so she isn’t there to talk to in person, but she’s been texting him all day. In fact, Alec’s busy texting her back pretty much as soon as he gets out of rehearsal, and then as soon as he pulls into the driveway at home, which is part of why he doesn’t notice his dad’s car in the garage, or the fact that all the lights are on downstairs. He’s halfway to his room when his father’s voice stops him in his tracks.

“Alec!” Robert calls, sounding half-distracted, but impatient. “Can I talk to you for a minute?”

Alec swears softly under his breath. He has a pretty good idea what this is probably about, and it’s not like it’s _that_ big of a deal, he’d just… he’d just rather not, right now. And, okay, fine, maybe it actually is a pretty big deal. Even if it _wasn’t_ , though, he still wouldn’t want to talk about it. 

He doesn’t really have much of a choice, though. From the sound of things, his dad’s in the office; sure enough, when he turns and tramps back down the stairs and crosses the living room to the hallway that splits off into the kitchen and the office, Robert is parked behind the computer, typing away, reading glasses shoved up on his forehead. Technically, it’s Maryse’s office, if only because she does work at home more often than her husband does — it’s pretty rare these days, but every once in a while she’ll work remotely for a day or two, especially if she happens not to have any meetings — but whenever he’s home at a somewhat reasonable hour, it’s where Robert holes up, more often than not. 

“Hi,” Alec says, hovering in the doorway. “What did you need?”

Robert’s fingers still on the keyboard, and he looks up. “How was your day?”

“Good. Fine.” _Izzy’s helping me plan how to ask my boyfriend to homecoming,_ Alec adds in his head. _Also, I have a boyfriend. Please don’t ask me about college applications._

“Have you started your college applications?”

Alec manages to restrain the groan that threatens to burst from his throat, but it’s a near thing. Yep. He’d been right all along; unfortunately, it’s not hard to predict what his dad wants to talk about these days, on the rare occasions when he wants to talk about anything at all. “Yeah. I mean, a little. It’s, um — I’m pretty busy with band right now.”

“Applications are due November 1st,” his father says, with the air of a man reminding his son that two plus two equals four. “I know you’re busy — you know your mother and I are proud of your leadership role — but this is important.”

“Yeah, Dad, I know. I’m working on it.” _Your mother and I are proud of your leadership role_. They are — that much is true, Alec knows, but God, it sounds so stiff when he says it that way. Absently, he wonders if he’s ever heard his father actually say the words _drum major_ , or if that’s just not the kind of nonsense Robert Lightwood actually bothers with. 

“And the earlier you apply, the better your chances,” Robert continues. “You’re very smart, Alec, and very dedicated, but Columbia has thousands of smart, dedicated applicants.”

Honestly, Alec’s a little impressed with how much he managed to fit in there. Alec had better get on this fast, and he had better get into Columbia — no other option is even presented — but also, he’s probably not good enough. His spine is stiff with tension, but he tries not to let it bleed into his voice as he says, “Yeah. I know. I’ve got homework — I’d better get upstairs.”

Homework is a good excuse; Robert nods, turns back to the computer, and gets back to his own work without another word, and Alec is able to make his escape.

It’s not that he doesn’t want to go to college. Obviously he wants to go to college. It’s just… He flops down into his desk chair with a sigh, no longer quite interested in texting Izzy back. His parents have an extremely specific, extremely exacting set of expectations, and they’d definitely make him sound impressive on paper — Ivy League school, pre-law track, and then off to law school, and so on — Alec doesn’t actually give a shit. It’s what’s expected of him, not just by his parents but by everyone from the guidance counsellor to the bus driver, or at least that’s how it feels. It’s just not anything close to what Alec actually wants, and he hasn’t decided what to do about that yet.

He’s pretty used to not getting what he wants, so maybe this shouldn’t be _that_ big of a deal; it would be a good life, he knows, well-provided for, and most people don’t get to have their dream job. But, he thinks as he looks down at his phone to see a whole string of new texts from Izzy about restaurants he could take Magnus to before the dance, lately he’s gotten kind of used to the idea that he can actually go after what he wants, that maybe the things he wishes for aren’t out of reach.

It’s not a conversation he wants to have with his father just yet, but maybe… maybe in a few weeks. Maybe as that November 1st deadline gets closer, he’ll be able to actually say something about it. Not now, not yet, but… maybe.

His phone buzzes again, and Alec rolls his eyes, swiping to unlock it. College is a long-term concern; responding to his sister before she actually blows up his phone is a matter for the here and now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unsure if I should apologize for the lack of Magnus or say "you're welcome" for the amount of Izzy.
> 
> Just in case you, like literally everyone who saw the sneak peek of this chapter that I posted on Twitter, apparently, are in fact intrigued by the idea of Alec doing a flash mob to ask Magnus to homecoming, boy oh boy does ao3 user [apartment](https://archiveofourown.org/users/apartment) have you covered with [this delightful thread.](https://twitter.com/inviq/status/1044031635342143488)


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Halloween(-themed) hangout and a motherly meeting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! This is a day later than I thought it would be, but it's also the longest chapter so far, so... pros and cons? I think I am going to switch to having Wednesdays be my regular update day from here on out, so the next chapter should be on 10/10/18. Side note: I kind of realized as I was writing this one that this fic is currently updating almost in real time, which is... wild. :'D
> 
> To explain a brief joke made down at the very end (I know, spoilers, sorry), today's marching lesson is about different marching step sizes. The two most common are eight to five (pretty typical standard for most US high school bands) and six to five (used mostly in military or parade-style marching these days, to my knowledge). The names refer to how many steps it takes to cover five yards -- so, eight to five is eight steps for five yards. The five yard thing is because football fields, [for those who don't know,](https://media3.giphy.com/media/3og0IMJcSI8p6hYQXS/giphy.gif?cid=3640f6095bb6cdad564b47695585119e) are delineated in 5-yard markings. Because military-style marching used to be a lot more common, six to five marching used to be a lot more common, too. And even if you have freakishly long legs, like moi, it's... not super fun.
> 
> Enjoy!! And don't forget to use #LIAMK on Twitter if you feel like livetweeting/talking about this chapter; seeing y'all's reactions really makes my day. <3

The crack of thunder almost covers up the booming of Herondale’s megaphone.

“Again, from D!” she calls over a hiss of feedback, and Alec winces, the sound much too close to his own eardrums for comfort. Through sheets of rain, he can make out what seems like a mass slumping of shoulders, and while he’s too far off the ground and the ambient weather is too loud for him to actually hear anything, he can more than imagine the grumbling and swearing that’s no doubt going on at his feet.

The band starts to reset to point D, but they’re moving much more sluggishly than they had been an hour ago. Alec checks his watch for what feels like the thousandth time since rehearsal started and swears under his breath. 4:40. The rain started about five minutes after rehearsal did, and while it’s not exactly a torrential downpour, it’s been heavy and steady, and now there’s thunder and lightning, too. They’re theoretically supposed to go inside if there’s lightning, according to school safety protocols, but Herondale seems to be pretending she hasn’t noticed.

_Welcome to Bandtober_ , Alec thinks grimly to himself, and raises his hands to count the band off for their next run.

The metronome cuts through the pounding of the rain, but only barely, and as soon as the band comes in, he can’t hear it at all. Normally, that wouldn’t be an issue — he knows the music blind and backwards at this point — but normally, Alec isn’t fighting the rain and a sense of general exhaustion in the band. Normally, they haven’t come directly from the high of doing well at a competition to an especially harsh Herondale apparently determined to keep them from letting the success go to their heads. Normally, he isn’t operating on a mix of frustration and tiredness and anxiety.

He notices partway through the run that his hands are dragging. Biting his lips against a curse, he corrects and tries to tell himself it’s not a big deal, but as he keeps his eyes trained out across the band, constantly scanning, he can see the effect: people aren’t moving in synch, the music is far from clean, and everything just looks _off_ as the band struggles to settle into the correct tempo. 

And this at the end of an already-difficult rehearsal. Herondale is going to _kill_ him.

Sure enough, they barely make it to the ballad before Herondale calls them to a stop, and there's no misinterpreting the ice in her voice. She makes Alec wait, too, instead taking apart a number of the individual mistakes he'd spotted in other members of the band — a group of flutes who are significantly off their dots, a messy run from the mellophones, poor body movement from more or less everyone. But then, after she's finished all of that, she pauses for just a moment, and Alec feels his gut clench, because he knows what's coming.

"Finally, while I understand that it's difficult to maintain the correct tempo when the drum majors are failing to give you proper guidance, I expect you all to be able to keep it together anyway," she says, and from the corner of his eye, Alec can see Emma stiffen. He can't quite see Raj, but he's sure that he probably didn't take that well, either, and that just makes him feel worse. It's not _their_ fault; they weren't the ones who screwed up. That was all him.

Herondale keeps talking, but Alec honestly doesn't have the energy to pay attention to her on top of beating himself up. Part of him is righteously angry at her for calling him out so publically like that, and a part is also angry at her for implicating Emma and Raj when it was _his_ mistake. Those competing frustrations are both bolstered by his overall level of irritation at the circumstances, the rain and the lightning and how tired he is and how Herondale has been refusing to give them even an inch all afternoon. He's far from the only one dispirited and upset right now, and he doesn't even have to actually look out at the band to confirm that.

All told, rehearsal can't end nearly soon enough. Alec lingers on the tower until most of the band is long gone, and — more importantly — until Herondale has already climbed down and headed back towards the band office. He half-expects her to stop and chew him out again and can't quite decide whether he thinks he'd deserve it if she did. She doesn't say anything, though, and he waits several minutes more once she's gone, fiddling with his chart book so that it looks at least a little bit like he's doing something and not just dawdling because he's fed up and tired and doesn't want to face anyone. By the time he finally gives up waiting and climbs down the ladder to the ground, he more or less wants to go home and curl up and not think about anything for a while.

But Magnus is waiting for him at the bottom of the tower.

He must have already gone inside and come back, because he's swapped out his flag for an umbrella, and he's got both his and Alec's backpacks clutched to his chest. Alec doesn't even want to know how Magnus had gotten into his band locker, though picking a lock just sort of seems like the kind of thing he'd expect Magnus to be able to do, now that he thinks about it. Magnus gives him a slightly exaggerated, but still genuine, face of commiseration as he reaches the ground, and despite how bad he’s feeling at the moment, Alec can't quite help but to return it. 

"That was pretty rough," Magnus says without preamble as Alec crowds under the umbrella, and Alec winces. He has to duck to get his head under the umbrella, though Magnus obligingly lifts it up, and yes, yes, rehearsal had been rough. Magnus isn't _wrong_ , and it's not like Alec is mad that he'd pointed it out. He just... doesn't want to think about it anymore at the moment.

"Yeah," he agrees softly, groaning. "I can't believe I... I really screwed up that last run, huh?"

Magnus makes a soft sound and steps in a little closer to press up against his side. He doesn't have any free hands, really, but he makes a valiant effort at shifting their backpacks around where he's holding them to grab Alec's hand anyway. "Not what I meant! I meant that Herondale was rough, not that _you_ were rough. Well, and the weather. That was pretty rough, too. But I'd be impressed if you managed to somehow feel guilty about _that._ "

"Don't tempt me," Alec mutters, but for the second time in as many minutes, he can't quite tamp down on a smile that feels totally incongruous to his mood. How Magnus manages to have this effect on him is still a complete mystery, but for the moment, at least, he is totally, one hundred percent not complaining.

"I wouldn't dare," Magnus quips back, rolling his eyes, but then he gets a little more serious again. "Listen, I know you're probably super busy, but I also know that I'm feeling pretty rotten right now, and if I had to hazard a guess, I'd say you are, too."

Alec's not sure exactly where he's going with this, but he nods slowly anyway. The reminder of the amount of homework he has waiting for him at home makes him want to die a little, but it's almost impossible not to get drawn in by the very concept of whatever alternative Magnus is no doubt setting up for. It makes him feel a little guilty, especially so soon after getting an unkind reminder from his dad about his ever-approaching college applications, but... God, he _really_ does not want to do work right now.

"It's been a while since we had a date, and you still haven't ever come by and met my mom..." Magnus says, trailing off as he looks up at Alec from under his eyelashes, clearly thinking he's going to have to work a lot harder to get Alec to skive off his homework than he really is. Not that Alec doesn't appreciate the confidence in his work ethic, but still.

"What did you have in mind?"

"Well, it's October now, and I don't know if you know this about me yet, but Halloween is more or less my favorite day of the year, meaning that I spread the celebrations out all month," Magnus explains, once again swaying just that little bit further into Alec's space. It's nice, the exchange of body heat to combat the rain, and it makes Alec shiver for that and other reasons. “And _that_ means that I have apple cider and kettle corn and a hand-picked selection of films that I can have ready at a moment’s notice.”

"So, movie night?" Alec asks, both because he's genuinely curious and to force himself to focus on something other than the way Magnus is basically pressed full-body against him at the moment.

“Movie night,” Magnus agrees. “And I’m sure my mom won’t object to having you stick around for dinner. Actually, strike that — she will _love_ it. You’ll make her whole week.”

“Well, I don’t want to disappoint your mother,” Alec says, and this time he doesn’t even bother trying to bite back his smile. 

He leans down to hide it by pressing a kiss to Magnus' lips, though, and despite the rain creeping in under the umbrella and pounding all around them, he feels warm to the tips of his toes at the way Magnus immediately kisses back, his mouth falling open, soft and lush and a truly excellent distraction from everything else that's happened this afternoon.

By the time he pulls away, Alec's head is pleasantly blank and fuzzy, and Magnus is smirking at him in a way that makes him think it's showing on his face. Somehow, he can't quite make himself feel bothered by that. 

"So, that's a yes to movie night?" Magnus asks, still pressed up close against him and pushing Alec's backpack gently into his chest.

Alec nods, still a little dazed. "Definitely."

—

It looks like Magnus' affinity for Halloween must run in the family.

When Alec pulls up outside Magnus' house, the first thing he notices are the pumpkins. There are dozens of them, piled up on the front porch and lining the path to the door and at the corners of the driveway. It takes him a second to notice that they're ceramic; it wouldn't be out of the realm of possibility, after all, for Magnus to have just painted a bunch of normal pumpkins black and red. School spirit _and_ Halloween spirit, Alec thinks. It's honestly more than a little impressive.

That doesn't even take into consideration, though, the spiderwebs covering the front door, or the scarecrow over by the garage, or the cutesy ghosts and witches on the windows. The house almost looks more like a Halloween superstore than a normal house, and it's only _barely_ October. As far as Alec can see, none of the Magnus' neighbors have _any_ decorations up yet, let alone enough to compete with _this._

He feels his heart clench almost painfully in his chest with a sudden surge of affection. Magnus is — Magnus is really, truly something else. 

He also beat Alec to the house, apparently, because his car's already in the driveway, and he pops out of the driver's side door as soon as Alec pulls in behind him, umbrella in hand once again. He makes his way to Alec's car, and by the time Alec's gathered his things and undone his seatbelt, Magnus is waiting there to escort him inside under the umbrella.

"It's not raining _that_ hard," Alec tells him, amused, and hoping that amusement covers up how ridiculously fond he's feeling at the moment. Not that he minds Magnus knowing that he's fond of him — God, he _hopes_ Magnus knows that Alec is fond of him — but he's a little mortified at the idea of anyone knowing exactly _how_ fond he's feeling at the present moment. "I could have walked in by myself, you know."

Magnus rolls his eyes, smiling. "I'm sure you could. Maybe I just like the excuse to be close together, hm? Did you ever think about _that?”_

Alec isn't sure how to say he likes it too without sounding a bit creepy, so instead he just ducks his head to hide his answering smile and the heat he can feel in his cheeks and allows himself to be escorted to the front door. 

"Do you want a tour, or do you just want a hot drink?" Magnus asks as they step through the front door, and Alec hums, considering.

"Hot drink now, tour later?" he offers, and Magnus nods, dropping his backpack on a bench in the entryway and gesturing for Alec to do the same.

"You got it. Follow me."

He leads the way from the entryway through what looks to be the living room to the kitchen, and Alec follows, trying not to look like his head's on a swivel. It's just that the Halloween decorations aren't just relegated to the outside of the house. There's a bowl full of squashes and gourds on the kitchen table, autumn leaf garlands around the doorways, and a set of cutesy pumpkin string lights hanging over the refrigerator.

"Do you guys decorate this much for _every_ holiday?" Alec asks, more than a little bewildered, while Magnus starts to bustle around the kitchen, putting the kettle on and pulling an enormous bowl down from a cabinet over his head. 

He laughs as he sets the bowl down on the counter and heads for the pantry, shaking his head. "No. Well — my mom _does_ get weirdly into Christmas, but I think that's because she's, like, a lapsed Catholic. But no, it's mostly just Halloween."

"I know you said you liked Halloween, but this is honestly impressive," Alec tells him frankly, crossing the room to fidget with the pumpkin-shaped lights. "I think we had a jack-o'-lantern last year, maybe? But that's really only for my little brother's sake. We've _definitely_ never done anything like this," he says, gesturing around in an attempt to indicate more or less the whole house.

Magnus clicks his tongue, returning from the pantry with kettle corn and apple cider mix. "Now that's just sad. You should bring come over here again and make jack-o'-lanterns with me and mom. She can do some crazy stuff with one of those carving knives, let me tell you."

"I'd like that," Alec says. His voice comes out a little bit softer than he'd intended, but Magnus just smiles back at him, his eyes warm and bright.

The conversation is light while Magnus finishes pulling their snacks together, and by the time Alec gratefully accepts a warm mug of cider, Magnus is listing off his childhood Halloween costumes.

"I was a ghost when I was eight, because I felt like I had to do it at least once, like it was just a requirement, you know?" he says as he leads Alec back to the living room. He sets his cider and the bowl of kettle corn down on the end table before flopping dramatically onto the couch, patting the cushion beside him as an indication that Alec should sit as well. "I mean like a classic bedsheet ghost. Mom humored me, even though I could tell she wanted to fancy it up a little. The year after that, we did what _she_ wanted and she got to make me this really intricate wizard costume, with a staff and a pointy hat and robes and everything."

"You have to know that now I'm going to ask to see pictures as soon as your mom gets home," Alec tells him, mostly joking, but also a little bit _really_ enamored at the idea of seeing tiny baby Magnus dressed up in what sound like some pretty impressive Halloween costumes. That's — look, there's a definite appeal there, because Magnus is cute enough now, but tiny and dressed up like a wizard...

Magnus just scoffs. "Please, you don't have to wait. I'll show you all the pictures you want. I was _adorable_."

Alec's snorting laughter seems to be answer enough, because Magnus just breezes right past and starts rifling through DVDs on the shelf.

"Now," he says, "I'm going to assume from what you were saying earlier that you probably haven't watched a lot of Halloween movies?"

"I mean, Izzy and Jace drag me out to see them sometimes," Alec replies, thinking back to try and dredge up some titles. "I've seen, like, Paranormal Activity, and stuff like that."

Magnus' put-upon sigh is _mostly_ an act, Alec's pretty sure, but there's a real note of dismay in his voice when he says, "No, Alexander, I said _Halloween_ movies, not horror movies."

For a split second, Alec considers asking if there's a difference. He's smarter than that, though.

"Uh, in that case, no," he says, and Magnus makes a small, considering noise.

"Well," he says, "I'm going to have to fix that. But figuring out where to _start_ is the problem. Oh!" he adds suddenly, snatching a case off the shelf and waving it over his shoulder at Alec, who's making himself comfortable on the couch. "How do you feel about DCOMs?"

Alec blinks. "What?"

"Good answer." Magnus pauses. "Well, no, bad answer, but an answer that helps me come to a decision, at least." He pops open the case in his hands, bending down to fuss with the DVD player and turn on the TV, before crossing the room to practically leap onto the couch, settling against Alec's side matter-of-factly. "This was my favorite as a kid, so if you don't like it I'm going to be very disappointed."

"I'm not worried," Alec says easily. "You have good taste."

Magnus squints at him playfully. "Is that an ego I hear?"

"What? No! No, that's not —” Alec sputters, flushing bright red, but Magnus just laughs, elbowing him lightly as he leans across to reach for the remote. The DVD's main menu has come up, and Alec, in an attempt to distract himself, examines the screen, trying to get a feel for what it is he's about to be exposed to.

"Halloweentown?" he reads, curious. It definitely looks like a kid's movie, at least based on the age of the protagonist, and a little bit on the older side. But while he knows Magnus was kidding about being disappointed if he doesn't like the movie — well, probably _mostly_ kidding, anyway — Alec's determined not to let it show, even if he hates it. 

Besides: even if he hates it, this whole thing is a _great_ excuse to lean up against Magnus' side and more or less cuddle for an extended period of time. _That,_ at least, Alec is pretty confident of his ability to enjoy.

"Ready?" Magnus asks, and when Alec nods, he hits play.

—

By the time the movie is done, they've eaten their way through all of the kettle corn, and Magnus has gotten up to make them both fresh mugs of cider three separate times. Alec's a little worried about ruining his dinner, especially since he doesn't want to accidentally offend Magnus' mom by not eating enough or something, but on the other hand, he's a teenage boy. He'll be fine. 

And, as though Alec's summoned her by worrying about her, just as the credits start to roll, they're interrupted by the grumbling sound of the garage door opening, a sound that echoes through the house and has Magnus sitting up straight from where they'd been more or less plastered together, putting at least a _little_ space between them for decency's sake. 

"Mom's home," he says, though Alec had more or less guessed that already. 

Sure enough, within minutes, a door opens somewhere in the general direction of the garage, and a woman's voice calls, "Magnus?"

"In the living room!" Magnus calls back. "With a guest!"

There's a _thump_ that Alec thinks sounds very much like a bag hitting the floor, and Magnus' mother excitedly calls back, "Guest?"

Magnus rolls his eyes at Alec, but he's grinning as he replies, "Yes, it's Alec."

"How did she know that?" Alec mutters, and Magnus shrugs at him, still smiling.

"She knows most of my friends, and if it was someone she knows, I would've just said their name."

Magnus' mom slides into the room just a moment later — literally slides, on stocking feet, wearing a very fashionable-looking dress and with a pair of high heels clutched in one hand. Alec's first impression is that she's younger than he would have thought; his second is that, between her porcelain-pale skin and her curly blonde hair, she looks _nothing_ like Magnus.

"You must be Alec!" she says as soon as she enters the room, darting over to the couch with one hand outstretched. Alec scrambles to his feet to meet her, taking the offered hand and shaking it with a grip that he hopes is somewhere between too limp and too firm. 

"Um, yes, ma'am," he says. She's smiling at him, bright and wide and beaming, an expression he's pretty familiar with from seeing it on Magnus' face, and while it's a _little_ less infectious coming from her, Alec still can't quite stop himself from smiling right back. "It's great to meet you."

"No, no, no, you have to call me Janet," she corrects him immediately, and, with a slightly surprising amount of strength, she uses the handshake to pull him into a hug right over the top of the couch. Alec manages to stop himself from freezing up in surprise, but it's a near thing, and when he pulls back, Magnus has a twinkle in his eyes that says he knows _exactly_ how bewildered Alec is feeling right now.

"You two haven't eaten yet, have you?" Janet calls over her shoulder, moving into the kitchen. "I was planning on stir fry tonight, Alec, is that okay?"

"Just snacks," Magnus answers. "And stir fry's good, right, Alec?"

"Yeah," Alec says, then clears his throat and corrects himself: "I mean, uh, yes, thank you, that sounds wonderful."

“Good!” Janet says. “Come in here, you two, I want to chat.”

So they follow her into the kitchen, which is already looking a little bit like it got hit by a food tornado as she buzzes around, pulling out a wok and a bunch of different spices and an assortment of vegetables. Magnus hops up on the corner of the kitchen island, and Alec, not sure exactly what to do, leans his hip against the countertop next to him, close enough to take comfort in his presence but far enough away to hopefully not make Janet Bane raise her eyebrows.

“So, Alec,” she says, and he turns to face her quickly, blinking. “You’re the drum major this year, right?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“You don’t have to call me ma’am,” she reminds him gently, and Alec feels his ears go pink. 

“Um.” Oh, God, he has no idea what to say. He doesn’t want to disrespect her wishes, but there’s no _way_ he can bring himself to call her Janet. “...Okay.”

She chuckles, starting to chop vegetables, but shooting him a little smile as she does so. “We’ll work on that. Anyway, are you enjoying being drum major? I know that’s a lot of work. I was drum major in _my_ high school band, you know.”

Magnus groans dramatically. “Mom, if you try to make Alec watch your old performances, I swear…” 

“Hey!” Janet protests, waving her knife at him. “We went to state all four years, you know! We were _good!”_

“What, uh, what did you play?” Alec asks, his standard question any time someone new mentions band around him.

“Trombone!” she answers in a bright tone of voice. Alec had been expecting her to say flute, but he supposes that’s what he gets for believing stereotypes. She’s just so… chipper. And blonde. 

“She still plays in community band,” Magnus puts in, elbowing Alec lightly in the side. “You’ll have to come to a concert sometime. They’re no New York Philharmonic, but they’re pretty good.”

“I’d like that,” Alec says, smiling at Magnus and then at his mother a little uncertainly, but with genuine warmth. He almost surprises himself with how much he means it, with how easily Ms. Bane has disarmed him and made him feel welcome. Maybe he shouldn’t be that surprised, given how bright and warm Magnus himself is, but then, Alec’s well aware that those kinds of traits aren’t always things you learn from your parents. Sometimes it’s quite the opposite.

Unbidden, he finds himself contemplating the mental image of trying to have a conversation like this with _his_ parents — of Maryse and Robert trying to pretend they know anything about their children’s interests for more than thirty seconds, or holding a conversation with a teenager they aren’t related to without resorting to questions about college or future plans, or welcoming Alec’s boyfriend into their home, being excited to meet him, being kind to him.

Watching Magnus and his mom chatter and tease back and forth, he thinks that it’s almost, almost enough to make him feel jealous. But not really. Not when it’s someone like Magnus, who, in Alec’s completely unbiased opinion, deserves all the good things in the world, and _definitely_ deserves a mom who loves him as much as Janet clearly does. 

“Well, it’s not _my_ fault you kids these days don’t know what real marching is like,” Janet says, drawing Alec out of his thoughts. Magnus scoffs loudly, but they’re both so clearly kidding that her statement, which would normally make Alec cringe, makes him laugh instead.

“Six to five marching is the devil’s work and I do not abide by it,” Magnus says, and even as Alec shudders in agreement, he feels himself relaxing into the situation, and already hoping in the back of his mind that it’ll be okay for him to come over here more often in the future.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alec is on Instagram. Magnus is embarrassed. (Those two things aren't actually related.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ........................*crawls out of midterms hole* Hey, y'all!
> 
> Stop me if you've heard this one before, but: sorry this chapter is late! The fact that it's late is the bad news. The _good_ news is, if all goes according to plan with NaNoWriMo, the whole story will be finished by the end of the month. You know, God willing and all that. ;__; At any rate, here are some boys doing some shenanigans. We all like boys doing shenanigans, don't we?

Alec practically floats home from movie night, and practically floats to school the next morning too, and practically floats all the way to lunch, when he once again tracks down Izzy in the science wing, settling down beside her with not a lot of grace but quite a bit of good humor. "You look like you had a good night," she comments, grinning, when he sits down. "Is that why I heard you squeak in the door right before curfew?" "It's nothing like you're thinking, but yes," Alec says, only rolling his eyes a little. "I went to Magnus' — I met his mom, and everything. We watched Halloweentown. It was really, really nice." Izzy takes another good look at his face, shakes her head and smiles at him, and then admits, "Yeah, I know. He put it on Instagram again." Alec's never really been one for social media, but he has to admit he's curious, especially after the last post Izzy had shown him. "Can I see?" "You should really just get your own account if you're going to be dating Magnus, but yes, I'll show you," she replies, rolling her eyes good-naturedly. "Even if all you use it for is liking his posts. Actually, especially if that's all you use it for; that would be totally adorable." She hands him her phone, and Alec bends his head low to squint at the image. Magnus, once again, appears to have taken it without him even noticing, but those are definitely his socked feet up on the Banes' ottoman, and Magnus’ hand in the bowl of kettle corn, and Halloweentown playing on the TV in the background. The caption is just a jack-o’-lantern emoji, and a lot of the comments are just emojis, too: bats, spiderwebs, vampires, zombies, wolves…

But there’s one that’s a little different. His eye’s drawn to it right away, becuase instead of cutesy emojis or little notes about how great the movie is followed by way too many exclamation points, it’s a perfectly bland, un-embellished bit of text, so boring in format that it stands out like a sore thumb. 

_Oh, I loved that movie in elementary school._

Alec can’t quite bring himself to be surprised when he checks the username and sees ‘cbell.’ 

On the surface, it’s not horrible, he supposes. And Magnus doesn’t seem like the kind of person likely to get overly upset over the idea that something he enjoys is theoretically aimed at a younger audience — he isn’t, in Alec’s experience, the kind of person who much cares what other people think about his interests in general. But something really, really doesn’t sit right with him about just letting that comment hang there unchallenged, like one sour note in what’s otherwise a chorus of friendly responses. Magnus has replied to a lot of the other comments, but not that one. Apparently he’s just letting it lie.

“Izzy,” Alec says slowly. “ _Can_ you actually help me make an account?”

Isabelle blinks at him, surprised. “Sure I can. Why, though?”

Wordlessly, Alec passes the phone back to her, with Camille’s comment centered on the screen. She scans the screen, and it’s obvious when she gets it, because her lips set immediately into a tiny frown.

“Oh, I can definitely help you with that,” she says, setting down her phone in favor of making grabby hands in Alec’s direction. “Phone. But I feel like I should ask — are you sure? Camille is a piece of work. You could just ignore it, and she’ll probably stop sooner or later.”

Alec shakes his head as he pulls his phone out of his pocket and passes it to her, well aware that he’s scowling but unable to wipe the expression off his face. “If it was me she was talking shit about, I’d probably just ignore it and wait for her to get bored,” he admits. “But she clearly hasn’t gotten bored of fucking with Magnus.”

Izzy snorts. “How chivalrous.” 

“Shut up,” Alec says, rolling his eyes. “It just doesn’t — it’s just. It’s not right.”

“No, no, I’m with you. It’s Magnus’ decision to ignore her or not, but personally, I think she’s got it coming to her.” She’s tapping away at his phone, and when Alec peers over her shoulder to check, he sees she’s downloading the Instagram app. As soon as the download is finished, she opens it up and then looks over at him expectantly. “Okay, what’s your username going to be?”

“...can it just be ‘Alec?’”

“I mean, I can try…” She types it in, then shakes her head. “Nope, that’s taken. ‘aleclightwood’ probably isn’t, though.”

Alec nods. “Okay, that sounds fine.”

Izzy types it in quickly, then says, “Okay, I’m giving you a dummy password, you can change it later… Now for your bio. Hm. Anything in particular you want in there?”

He squints at her, making sure to make eye contact, then says, “I’m letting you write it, but I want veto power.”

“I mean, obviously, it’s not like you couldn’t just go in yourself and change it later anyway,” Izzy says, already typing. “Hmmm… ‘I like band more than I like you. NYIAS ‘19. Heart Magnus heart.’”

“The hearts are a bit much,” Alec protests, wrinkling his nose. “They’re _sparkly._ ”

“So is Magnus,” Izzy points out. “Would it help if I made them black? _Ow!”_ she adds when Alec socks her in the shoulder for that comment. “Okay, okay, fine, just one heart, and it’ll be a plain, boring red heart, to satisfy your middle-aged soul. Better?”

“Save the attitude for the comment you’re going to help me write,” he grumbles, taking the phone back from her with a little bit of force. “I need a profile picture too, right?”

“Yeah. Do you have one in mind?”

Alec nods, already scrolling through his saved photos. There’s exactly one photo of himself on his phone that he actually likes, and, no surprise, it’s Magnus’ doing: he’d stolen Alec’s phone after rehearsal one afternoon and spent a little while running around the band hall taking ridiculous photos on it, but not before he’d snuck in a selfie with Alec himself. He’d taken Alec completely by surprise, which Alec suspects is the only reason he doesn’t look awkward as all hell in the photo. Instead, he looks — even to his own eyes — almost unbearably fond, smiling at Magnus, who’d swooped in to give him a kiss on the cheek and taken the picture so fast he was already gone by the time Alec had registered the clicking of the shutter sound effect. 

Izzy’s looking over his shoulder anyway, but he tilts the phone towards her a little bit to make it easier for her to see the photo, and she cooes happily at it.

“Precious!” she declares. “It’s perfect.”

Alec nods, not even bothering to try and hide the small, soft smile that’s creeping over his face. He sets his profile picture, then goes to the search bar to find Magnus’ page. 

“Okay,” he says as he taps ‘Follow’ under Magnus’ name and then navigates to Camille’s comment. “Now how do we do this?”

Izzy hums thoughtfully. “Honestly? I think you might have to escalate it a little. I don’t know if you’re going to be able to get back at her with quite so subtle a dig, you know?”

“I’m fine with that.” More than fine, really. There’s a part of Alec — a small, angry part — that wants to go on a whole tirade, even though he didn’t really know Magnus back when he and Camille had been dating and most of his knowledge of the ensuing events, their breakup and all the nastiness that lead to it, is secondhand. He kind of wants to… well, there are a lot of things that Alec thinks about someone who could ever go behind their partner’s back like that. Camille had had _two_ other guys she was seeing, who Magnus didn’t know about, at least according to the most reliable of the rumors. There’s a lot Alec could say about that, but even he can admit that this probably isn’t the time or place.

Izzy takes the phone back and then pauses, considering, staring down at the screen as indignation and disgust swirl around in Alec’s head. “How about this?” she asks eventually, her fingers flying into motion across the keyboard before she leans over and tilts the phone back toward Alec so he can see.

_I always thought it was really hard to stick to just *one* favorite movie._

Alec can’t help the smirk that tugs at the corners of his lips when he sees that. There’s never been any doubt in his mind that Izzy’s one of the cleverest people he knows, and God, is he _ever_ glad that she’s on his side. 

“Perfect,” he says decisively, and reaches over to post the comment before either of them have a chance to second-guess it. When Izzy reaches up for a high five with the hand that’s not holding his phone, he chuckles and smacks their hands together with a loud, satisfying sound. 

“Fuck with one Lightwood, and you fuck with all of us,” Izzy says, pulling a jokingly tough face and flexing a little as she clenches her free hand into a fist, and for that Alec high fives her again.

“Damn right.”

—

Alec honestly doesn’t think about Instagram or Camille or any of it very much for the rest of the week. They have their first big competition coming up on Saturday, one that will give them a chance to scope out the other bands that’ll be their top competition at Area and, God willing, State, and judge how well they’re measuring up at this point in the season. After their somewhat disastrous and rainy rehearsal to start off the month, the week begins a little slow, but by Wednesday Alec and Emma and Raj have mostly got the band back in fighting shape, and Alec’s well aware that Magnus had taken the guard out to Rita’s Diner and given them what he described as “somewhere between a pep talk and a talking-to,” which seems to have worked, because by Thursday the guard’s spirits seem to be up and they’re making most of their catches again, and by the time Alec’s heading to the band hall after class on Friday afternoon, he’s feeling cautiously optimistic about how the competition is going to go.

Which, of course, is when he runs into Camille.

He turns the corner down the hallway that leads to the band room, and there she is, standing by the water fountain with a little gaggle of cheerleaders and talking to them about something while scrolling through her phone at the same time. Alec freezes for half a second, more out of shock than anything — most non-band kids steer well clear of the band room after school, for fear of being whacked by a stray color guard pole or flattened by a sousaphone or, worst by far, yelled at by Ms. Herondale — and then feels his expression set into a frown. This _can’t_ be a coincidence, and sure enough, as he starts to walk down the hallway one of the cheerleaders catches his eye and then whispers something quickly to Camille.

“Alec!” she says as she turns, and he’s hit full-on with the sheer force of her _presence_. Camille is one of those people who’s intimidating just to look at, not because she’s physically tall or broad or intimidating, but just becuase everything about her looks sharp enough to cut yourself on. In a weird way, she and Magnus really _did_ seem to fit together, back when they were dating. “I was hoping to run into you.”

“Not sure why else you’d hang around the band hall,” Alec says, the words out of his mouth before he even has a chance to think about them, and he’s — honestly a little surprised with himself? That had almost sounded snarky and clever enough to be something Isabelle would say, and normally he’s not great at coming up with that shit on the spot. At least not compared to someone like Camille.

Then again, she’s standing between him and his band hall, and there’s a lot of shit he has to get done before the competition tomorrow. Maybe he should give himself a little more credit, at least in this specific situation.

“I was just _so_ surprised to see you on Instagram the other day,” she shoots back, and a couple of the other cheerleaders actually sort of fall back so that they’re flanking her, making a little formation. Alec idly wonders if they rehearse that move at cheer practice. “I didn’t really think of you as being very _social_.”

“I’m not,” Alec says shortly. “Magnus doesn’t seem to mind, though.”

For a second, he wonders if that was a mistake, becuase her eyes positively light up and something tightens almost imperceptibly around her mouth.

“How _is_ Magnus?” she asks. “I was surprised to hear you two were going out, too. I heard something about a practice room, I think. That’s more daring than I would have expected from you — I mean, if it was your sister, I wouldn’t be surprised. But I thought you were the prudish Lightwood. Guess I was wrong about _that_.”

Alec takes a deep breath and considers that, staring flatly at Camille with his arms crossed over his chest. She managed to make a dig at him, at Magnus, and at Isabelle — who’s not even _relevant_ to this conversation — all at once, and all with just enough plausible deniability to make _him_ look a little crazy if he blows up at her. Thinking about it strategically, like he can think his way through this just the same as he’d think through the logistics of planning a rehearsal or getting everyone on and off the field at a competition, is working a little, but honestly, he just doesn’t have the brain space for it right now.

“You picked the wrong day to try this,” is what he finally says, after a few heavy seconds of anticipation and silence. He notes with a sort of detached glee that a couple of the cheerleaders’ mouths drop open a little in shock. “I’ve got shit to do.” And with that, he brushes past them, shouldering past Camille with just the slightest hint of roughness and making his way into the band hall.

He hears people whispering about it the instant he walks inside, but he just heads straight for the uniform room to grab his equipment. Emma’s in there when he shoulders the door open; she shoots him a look, but doesn’t say anything, just gathers up her metronome and gloves and water bottle and pats him on the shoulder when she brushes past him on her way out the door.

Alec takes a deep breath, giving himself a moment in the silence and solitude of the empty room to process what just happened. _Nothing_ happened, really — he saw Camille and exchanged a couple of words with her, and she implied that his sister is a slut and that maybe Magnus is also, and that he himself is a prude, and that’s… it. She didn’t say anything objectively heinous, and, he’s a little surprised to find as he takes stock of himself, he’s not actually all that upset about it. He’d meant what he said; he has bigger fish to fry right now. Herondale would _kill_ him if she thought he was letting teen angst get in the way of doing his duties as drum major.

Still, he’s not exactly surprised when Magnus comes bursting through the doors of the uniform room a moment later.

“Did Camille really ambush you in the hallway just now?” he says as soon as he and Alec make eye contact, sounding somewhere between bewildered and resigned and irritated. “I cannot _believe_ her.”

Alec can’t quite help the way he smirks a little as he nods, but he also reaches out to give Magnus’ arm a reassuring squeeze as he steps a little closer. “It’s not a big deal,” he says, and means it. “She’s just — ugh.”

Magnus snorts, nodding with feeling. “ _Ugh_ is right. I — well. I saw what you said on Instagram the other day, and I appreciate it, but I’ve found that…” He trails off, biting his lip, and Alec realizes all at once that he actually looks a bit in disarray. More so than normal, certainly. He looks… _cagey_ , almost, not quite meeting Alec’s eyes for more than a few seconds at a time.

“I’ve noticed that you seem to just ignore her most of the time,” Alec offers, and Magnus nods, opening his mouth to reply, maybe. Before he can, though, Alec lets his hand slide down Magnus’ arm to lace their fingers together, squeezing tight before he adds, “And I get that, Magnus, I do. If it was me, I’d ignore her too. But I just — it’s different for me to see her say stuff about _you_. You get that, right?”

Magnus opens his mouth again, but nothing comes out for a second. Behind the door that’s separating them from the rest of the band hall, Alec can hear the chatter of dozens of voices and the occasional sound of someone tuning their instrument or tossing an empty case into their locker. Finally, Magnus sighs into the semi-silence, taking another step closer to Alec until Alec can wrap his arms around him in a loose hug.

“I do get it,” Magnus says. “I’ve been dreading the idea that she’ll move on from saying stupid things about me to taking shots at you. I just…” He sighs into Alec’s shoulder, winding his own arms around Alec’s waist and squeezing tight for just a second. “I suppose I’m frustrated, and a little embarrassed?”

Alec frowns, pulling back a little — though with his hands still around Magnus’ waist — to look him in the eyes more easily. “Embarrassed? Embarrassed how?”

“I don’t know,” Magnus replies, huffing out a sigh. “I know you’re not exactly the gossipy type, but the whole…” He lifts one hand off of Alec to wave it around expressively. “... _thing_ , with her, it was everywhere. Public. Messy.”

There’s nothing that Alec really knows to do in response to that other than to nod slowly. Magnus is right, and there’s no getting around that or playing it down; the whole school had pretty much been talking about him and Camille for _weeks_ when they’d broken up. It probably didn’t help that there had been more than one public confrontation involved in the breakup.

After a moment, Magnus continues, “And I’m so _happy_ with you, Alec, and I hate the idea that she’d try to… come after that. You. Us. It took me a while to get over her, and now it feels like she’s trying to drag me back under. So, yes, I’ve been feeling a little… embarrassed. I wasn’t sure how you’d react.”

“Well,” Alec says slowly, then lets it sit, giving himself some time to think. “Well,” he repeats, leaning back in a little to knock his forehead lightly against Magnus’, pressing them together. “I don’t — I mean. You don’t have to feel weird about it. I’m not going to just sit there and let her make snide little comments about you. I’m happy with you, too, Mags. I — I don’t want to let anyone or anything get in the way of that. And definitely not someone like Camille.”

Magnus just stares at him for a minute, their noses brushing, their arms still wrapped around each other. They’re close enough together that if someone were to walk in on them right now, they’d no doubt get some shit for it, but not close enough together that there’d be any real scandal. And Alec’s not worrying about that right now, anyway; he’s too busy focusing on Magnus, on the complicated play of emotions across his face that’s undercut by pure, unadulterated fondness.

“I should have known better than to worry,” Magnus murmurs. “I feel like I underestimated you. Sorry, darling. You just — you continue to surprise me.”

Alec snorts quietly. “Don’t be sorry.” He leans in a little, pressing a brief, chaste kiss to Magnus’ lips. “Just know that I’m not going to take any silly bullshit lying down.”

“I wouldn’t expect any less,” Magnus replies, laughing warmly, and then finally, reluctantly pulls away to put a little bit of space between them. “Okay. Well. With that settled, I believe we have a rehearsal to get to.”

“I’ll be right out,” Alec assures him. “Just gotta get my stuff. See you on the field?”

“Obviously,” Magnus shoots back, shouldering open the door. Alec doesn’t turn around to actually start gathering up his stuff for rehearsal, though, until the door has swung shut behind him.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alec almost sneaks out of the house. Magnus ends up not being late for dinner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The inimitable CryptidBane drew some gorgeous art of [Alec and Magnus in their uniforms](https://twitter.com/CryptidBane/status/1048054977053130752) that I keep forgetting to link to because I am human garbage! Look at them, aren't they precious? <3

Alec’s halfway out the door when his mother calls after him.

“Where are you going?” Maryse asks, her voice coming from the general direction of her office, down the hall on the first floor. Alec turns back to look, and sure enough, she’s hovering in the doorway, hands on her hips. He hadn’t even known she was home.

“Uh — I’m — I have plans. With a… friend.” Translation: he and Magnus have managed to cobble together enough time, amidst their crazy Bandtober schedules, to go on a date. An actual, honest-to-God date; not that Alec hadn’t enjoyed movie night at the Banes’ last week, he _absolutely_ had, but he’s all but buzzing at the idea of going out for dinner together. Magnus got to pick the restaurant, which is exciting, too, because if there’s one thing Alec has learned so far, it’s that Magnus has _great_ taste in everything other than romantic partners. (Not that Alec himself and Camille indicate the same kind of bad taste, but both are baffling choices as far as Alec’s concerned.)

Maryse frowns, crossing her arms in front of her chest. “Didn’t you get my email?”

“Um… no?” It’s been a few hours since he checked his email, and he usually assumes that if it’s something time-sensitive, his mother will _text him_ , like he’s a member of her family and not a business connection.

“We’re having a family dinner tonight,” she says, and Alec feels his stomach sink straight down to his toes. “Your father is going to be home by 7. I’m going to cook. Max is helping.”

Alec checks his phone surreptitiously; it’s 5:47. He’s supposed to meet Magnus at 6. He is _definitely_ not going to be home by 7. His chest feels tight with worry. “Mom, you have to give me more warning. I can’t just — I can’t just cancel —”

“Surely your friend will understand?” Maryse says, but it’s not really a question. She’s frowning, now, her brows set in disapproval. Alec almost flinches when she says _friend_ , but then again, he’d purposefully set himself up for that. It’s not like he can just say, _I have a date, my boyfriend is waiting, we’ve both been so busy_ — anything that would maybe be a good enough excuse to actually convince her to let him out of this stupid sneak-attack thing she’s trapped him in. How on Earth she actually managed to spring this so suddenly is beyond him; normally it takes a week of coordinating her schedule with her husband’s to get them both home at a reasonable dinnertime.

“I can’t just cancel last minute, that’s so _rude_ ,” Alec repeats, trying one last time, well aware that a little bit of his desperation is probably creeping his voice but not quite able to bring himself to care. Appealing to her sense of social niceties is a last-ditch effort, but she’s already shaking her head before the words are out of his mouth.

“Normally, I wouldn’t ask you to, but it’s been so long since we all actually got a chance to sit down together, Alec,” she says. “Your father happened to have a meeting rescheduled at the last minute, so he’s free this evening, and I was planning on working from home anyway — we don’t get opportunities like that very often. I’m sure you and your friend can reschedule.”

She’s right, obviously; they _don’t_ get opportunities like this very often. But Alec — and Izzy and Max — are more than used to that by now. And rescheduling is going to be a little bit difficult, what with how crazy _Alec’s_ schedule is at the moment, which maybe his mother would know if she paid even the tiniest bit of attention to what was going on in his life. And —

“You’re right, I’m sorry,” Alec says stiffly. “I’ll let him know.”

She calls out after him, something about being downstairs at 7 and they’ll eat when his father gets home, but Alec’s head is buzzing with irritation and resentment and there’s a sick swoop of anxiety low in his stomach about the fact that he’s about to have to call Magnus and let him down, so he doesn’t really hear any of it as he makes his way right back upstairs, phone clenched tightly in his hand. 

He lets his bedroom door slam shut behind him; it feels cathartic, but it also feels a little silly once he’s standing there alone in silence in the middle of the floor. He looks down at his phone and groans; he’s got to call Magnus. He doesn’t want to — _really_ doesn’t want to — but he can’t put it off any longer; it’s already only ten minutes before they’re supposed to meet. God, he feels like a dick. For a second, he weighs the merits of sneaking out and going to meet up with Magnus anyway; he knows Izzy’s gotten out of her bedroom window before, meaning he could probably manage it too, and by the time his mom heard the rumble of the car in the driveway it’d be too late to stop him.

On the other hand, it wouldn’t be too late to punish him afterwards, and Alec may be, legally, very nearly an adult, but he knows full well that he doesn’t want to get on his mother’s bad side when he’s living under her roof. He has a brief flash of panic about the idea that she might force him to quit band if he pissed her off, or keep him from Magnus, or put him on house arrest, and it’s enough to make him discard the plan to sneak out, at least for the time being. He sighs lowly, sits down at his desk, and swipes through his lock screen to where he has Magnus on speed dial. 

Magnus picks up on the second ring.

“You’re not there already, are you?” he asks, sounding a little frazzled. “Because I’m running late. I _knew_ I should have picked you up instead of agreeing to meet at the restaurant, at least then we’d be getting there at the same time —”

“No, uh, actually Magnus, I…” Alec interrupts, biting his lip. He’s not quite sure what to say that will sound like anything other than a stupid excuse — _oh, sorry, my mom said I can’t go…_ But Magnus knows what Maryse and Robert Lightwood are like, at least a little. He’s been friends with Izzy for a while, after all, and he’s heard Alec complain about them often enough since they started dating that hopefully this won’t seem totally out of left field. Still. Alec’s mouth works for several long moments, but no words come out. “Um…”

“Alexander?” Magnus says, sounding a little calmer, like he’s stopped rushing around. His concern is palpable, even from across the phone line. “Is everything okay?”

Alec takes a deep breath. “It’s — I was just on my way out the door, and my mom stopped me. She said tonight is supposed to be a family dinner? Apparently? She emailed me about it.”

“She _emailed_ you?”

“Yeah, I don’t know, that’s not even that weird for her, I guess. Anyway, she said she… I told her I had plans, but she said that I’d just have to reschedule. I thought about sneaking out, because I really want to see you, but I…”

“No, no, no, it’s okay,” Magnus says quickly. “You don’t — it’s okay. I understand. Between you and Isabelle, I’ve heard enough stories about your parents to give you this one for free, okay?”

“I’m so sorry, Magnus,” Alec sighs, miserable. “I was really looking forward to getting to spend time with you, you know, outside of band.” Not that he doesn’t love spending time around Magnus when he’s in those tiny workout shorts or the skintight leggings he wears to rehearsal, but he had also been really, really, _really_ looking forward to seeing him dressed up for date night again. Not to mention getting the chance to just sit and talk and enjoy each other’s company without having to worry about getting interrupted by a freshman who needs help with their drill or one of the guard kids asking for Magnus’ help with a tricky catch. 

“I was, too, but it’s okay. Really. We’ll just have to make sure to spend some time together at the competition this weekend, huh?” 

“Yeah, of course. I’ll buy you some nachos.”

“See? That’s basically a dinner date.”

Alec laughs softly; he’s relieved, at least, that Magnus is taking this so well. He definitely sounds disappointed, which is only fair — Alec is plenty disappointed too — but he doesn’t sound _mad_. 

“So, family dinner?” Magnus asks, after a few seconds of silence. “How often does _that_ happen?”

“Not often,” Alec sighs. “Dad had an _unexpected opening in his schedule_ , apparently. Sitting down with your kids is basically the same thing as a business meeting, right? So. Mom’s trying to take advantage of the opportunity while it’s there.”

“Fair enough,” Magnus says, then lets out a deep sigh that sounds to Alec very much like he’s just flopped down onto his bed. “I mean, I guess we can’t begrudge her that, right?”

“I guess,” Alec says dubiously. “I’d still rather go out with you. She… she didn’t think it was too big a deal for me to ask my _friend_ to reschedule,” he adds, bitter at himself more than anything. It’s not Magnus’ fault, after all, that Alec hadn’t had quite enough guts to say _I’m supposed to be going on a date with my boyfriend, Magnus, who is male, because I’m gay and I like boys_. 

Magnus just laughs softly, a quiet huff of air more than anything. “Yeah. I mean, it’s not too big a deal to ask your boyfriend to reschedule, either,” he says reassuringly, his voice warm around the edges. “I promise. And you know, I…” He hesitates for a long moment, the airwaves between them filling up with just the soft crackle of empty phone lines and the quiet sounds of their breathing. “I don’t want you to ever feel like you’re letting me down somehow by not being out to them. I mean, I know we’ve talked about it before, but… I think it bears repeating.”

Alec can’t help the small smile that creeps over his face, though he still feels more than a little guilty at the idea. _Magnus_ may not feel like Alec’s letting him down — or he may say he doesn’t, anyway — but that doesn’t mean Alec hasn’t felt, these past few months, like coming out is suddenly a lot more of a pressing issue than it was before he had an actual boyfriend in his life. It had been one thing, to him, to be in the closet when all that being gay really affected was what kind of a person he fantasized about when he jacked off, or who he surreptitiously checked out when he was out hanging out with friends, but now — now he’s not the only one in the equation anymore.

“I know,” he says, softly, after letting Magnus’ words sit for a minute. “I mean — you don’t ever make me feel pressured. It’s not _you_ , I guess, is what I’m saying. But it’s starting to wear on _me_. I just, if I’d been able to tell her it was a date and not just hanging out… maybe we’d both be getting to the restaurant right about now, you know?”

“Well, I’d still probably be getting there late, but I take your point,” Magnus says. “I don’t know, Alec. I’ll be there to support you if and when you do decide to come out, you know that. And I’m a big believer in living your truth and whatever, but... everyone does things at their own pace.”

“Yeah,” Alec says. “Yeah.” Then, after another second of hesitation, “Thanks, Magnus. Really.” 

“You’re very welcome,” Magnus replies. “...So. How long until you have to actually head down to eat? Got a few minutes?”

“Dad’s not getting here until 7. I should have until then. Do you, do you want to…” He hesitates, then says, “I mean, we can just talk, or we could even — we could watch something on Netflix, or…”

“Whatever you want,” Magnus says. “I’m good just getting to hear your voice.”

Alec leans back in his chair and tries to pretend that his heart didn’t just melt completely out of his chest.

—

“So, how are your classes going?” Robert asks, taking a sip of his wine.

The question is directed more or less at all three of his children as a group, and, when Alec glances left at Izzy and then right at Max, none of them seems to have a clear idea of who should speak up first. 

“AP Bio has been really good,” Izzy volunteers after a couple of lingering moments of silence. “We’ve got midterms coming up, but I don’t see anything being too much of a challenge.”

“Good, good,” Robert says, nodding at her and offering her a little smile. Izzy’s always been his favorite, and it probably helps that she’s already angling towards med school without any prompting from him or Maryse, which… isn’t quite the case with all of his children. “And what about you, Alec? You have government this year, don’t you?”

“Um, yeah, gov and econ,” Alec says. “They’re… fine. I guess. I’m pretty focused on band right now.”

Robert frowns, and next to him, Maryse glances up from her plate to pin Alec with a look that’s a cross between concerned and suspicious. 

“Not too focused on band, I hope? Your grades aren’t slipping? You’ve got college applications coming up soon. You can’t afford to slack off just because you’re a senior.”

Alec thinks, for half a second, about detailing exactly how much work he puts in for Herondale and the band in a week, and asking if his dad _actually_ thinks that counts as ‘slacking off.’ That would be a pretty good way to start a fight, though, and as pissed as Alec is about having to miss his date with Magnus — and as much as this conversation is driving him up a wall — he knows better than to start a fight with his parents over dinner. Mostly.

“No, my grades are fine,” Alec says, a little curtly, but not rudely enough for either of his parents to call him on it, so whatever. “Like Izzy said, midterms are coming up soon, but — I’m doing fine so far. It’s just that this is our really busy time for band. We’ve got a couple of big competitions coming up, and then right around homecoming we’ve got Region.”

“Well, with all the work you’re putting in, I’m sure you’re going to do just fine.” And then just like that, all the attention is off Alec and onto Max. “What about you, Max? Anything interesting happen in school lately?”

The rest of the dinner carries on much the same way. Alec mostly keeps his head down, eats, and speaks when spoken to. He’s in too crappy a mood to bother with much of anything else; Izzy keeps shooting him concerned looks when their parents aren’t paying attention, but he just shrugs or shakes his head at her. She may have some idea that he was supposed to be out with Magnus tonight, or he may just be radiating irritation. Either way, they can talk about it later. 

The food’s good, at least. Maryse doesn’t cook often, but she’s pretty decent. Way better than any of her children, anyway — though Max hasn’t exactly had a chance to learn how to cook much yet. It makes him wonder what the food would have tasted like at the restaurant Magnus had picked out, though. 

“All right, we’d better let you all get on to your homework,” Maryse says finally, pushing her chair away from the table. “And I’ve got some work to do.”

“Thanks for dinner, Mom,” Izzy says, and Alec echoes the sentiment in a mumble. Max smiles sweetly and then immediately disappears down in the direction of the basement. Robert’s already gone, too, wandering off toward his office with a glass of wine still in his hand.

“You’re welcome, Isabelle,” Maryse replies, and Izzy stays still just long enough to smile back at her sweetly before grabbing Alec by the wrist and dragging him upstairs.

“Izzy, what —” he protests, but before he can even say any more, she’s shutting her bedroom door behind them. 

“Didn’t you and Magnus have plans?” she asks as soon as they’re blocked off from the rest of the house. “I could have sworn that was tonight.”

“Yeah, Mom caught me on my way out the door. Family dinner trumped it, as far as she was concerned.” Alec grimaces at her, and she bites her lip in sympathy. “I’m pissed, but there wasn’t really anything for it. Magnus said he understands.”

“Well, you guys have a competition this weekend, right? And then on Wednesday…”

“Right. And I’m pretty sure even family dinner can’t outdo my last homecoming dance, you know? Mom’ll just be glad to hear I have a social life, and as long as I tell Dad my college apps are in progress, he won’t give a shit.”

Izzy snorts. “Yeah. Pretty much. I’m excited, though! Have you ever even gone to a dance before? No, right?”

“No. I mean, Jace almost convinced me to go to junior prom last year, but…” He shrugs. He hadn’t really seen the point of going stag, especially knowing that Jace was just going to spend the whole night tied up with his girl of the moment and there wouldn’t be all that many other people there that he’d really want to talk to. But homecoming, with Magnus, _now_ … that’s a whole other story, and the reminder has done a little bit to raise his spirits. “Thanks for… you know, helping me plan that out, by the way. I don’t think I’ve really said that enough. I’d still be totally panicking without you.”

“You’d totally have tried to do a flashmob without me,” Izzy agrees, laughing. “And it would have been _awful_. So no need to thank me; I was just doing my civic duty to save the world from _that_.”

Alec scoffs, but he can’t actually argue with that all that much. It probably _is_ for the best that Izzy talked him down from the flash mob idea. 

“I actually should go try to get some homework done,” he says, scratching the back of his head. “I didn’t really think I’d get a chance tonight, but… silver linings, or whatever.”

“You go study, then,” Izzy says, slapping him companionably on the arm. “And hey, at least we both survived that, huh? God, maybe it’s a _good_ thing we don’t have family dinners more often.”

“A very good thing,” Alec says dryly, heading for the door. “‘Night, Iz.”

“Goodnight, Alec.”


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A chilly competition conversation. Or, Magnus shivers; Alec shudders.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Howdy folks! NaNo has still got me chuggin' along, so I've had this chapter finished for like a week now, but holiday craziness has meant that I didn't have time to proofread it and post it until today. Whoops.
> 
> I'm going for a blend of what my own high school's rules about being in the stands at a competition were re: uniforms (we weren't allowed to wear any part of our uniforms, especially if we planned on eating) and what seems most logical to me (Alec at least gets to keep his bibbers, because changing in and out of those things is kind of a major pain). 
> 
> Big, long-awaited things are coming next chapter!! Expect that hopefully Sunday. Since there's about 100 to 1 odds that I'll post after Thursday, this is where I will officially wish all American readers a happy Thanksgiving and all non-American followers a wonderful Thursday, on which you may or may not consume turkey.

“Is this seat taken?”

Alec turns, already rolling his eyes. “Given that you only left it five minutes ago, no.”

Magnus grins impishly, waving one of the two cups of hot chocolate he’s carrying in a vague, magnanimous sort of gesture. “Oh, play along, Alexander. Don’t you know how to improv? ‘Yes, and’? You’re supposed to say something like, _Yes, actually, my boyfriend is sitting here, only he left to get me a hot beverage, because he’s wonderful…_ ”

“I never said you weren’t wonderful,” Alec points out, gratefully accepting his hot chocolate when Magnus hands it to him as he reclaims his seat. “In fact, I think I say it pretty often. Improv just isn’t really my thing.” 

“No, I guess not,” Magnus says, laughing a little. Then he takes a sip of his own hot chocolate and outright moans. “Oh, God. Sweet, blessed warmth.”

Part of Alec wants to say it’s not _that_ cold, except that that’s a bit of a douchey thing to say, and also, it really kind of is. It had been temperate enough earlier in the week — fine for New York in mid-October, anyway — but, of course, a cold snap just _had_ to come in right as the band readied themselves for a weekend of standing around outside hanging onto pieces of metal. It’s not _unseasonably_ cold, but it isn’t exactly comfortable sitting-out-on-the-bleachers weather, either. It had been fine when they were out on the field performing, but now that they’re out of uniform and more or less sitting still...

The hot chocolate is helping, both of them warming up at least a little as they sit there and watch band after band perform, but Magnus is still shivering in his hoodie. Alec eyes him speculatively out of the corner of his eye as they sit and drink and watch in companionable mostly-silence, one or the other of them occasionally commenting on whoever’s performing at the moment, but mostly content to just enjoy each other’s company and get the most out of their hot drinks while they last. 

As the most recent band hits the final note of their show, pauses for just a moment, and starts to march off the field, Magnus gives a particularly violent shiver, and Alec decides that enough is enough — especially since they’re both starting to run low on hot chocolate.

“Here,” he says, shrugging off his letter jacket. The cold air immediately starts to sink into his skin, but he tries his best to hold back his shiver. “Swap me. You look like you’re freezing.”

Magnus blinks at — well, not quite at Alec, but at the jacket itself, which is in Alec’s outstretched hands as he sits there, shivering whether he wants to or not after a few seconds of being exposed in just his (thankfully long-sleeved) compression shirt. Is it Alec’s imagination, or are Magnus’ cheeks slightly pinker than they’d been a second ago? They were already a bit ruddy from the cold, but — well. It’s impossible to say for sure.

“I don’t know what I did to deserve you,” Magnus says fervently, with just enough of an edge of overwrought dramatics to it to keep it from sounding too… well, too real, Alec supposes. Which is good, probably, at least for the sake of his own ability to continue to function like a normal human being instead of melting into a pile of goo or swooning like a Victorian maiden or something. 

Magnus takes the jacket, though, which is the important part, quickly shimmying out of his hoodie to make the swap. When he offers it to Alec, the fabric’s still a little warm from his body heat, and it smells… just so unbelievably good. Alec’s only human; he takes several (hopefully discreet) sniffs as he pulls it over his head. And the thing is — it doesn’t just smell good, it smells like _Magnus,_ which means that now _he_ smells like Magnus, at least a little.

Which is _almost_ as good a feeling as when his head finally pops out of the hoodie’s neck hole and he’s treated to the sight of Magnus shrugging his shoulders a little to get comfortable in Alec’s letter jacket. It’s just a little bit too big for him, which only makes the odd little twisting sensation in Alec’s gut burn even hotter. Good _God_. Not that he’d ever want Magnus to suffer in the cold or anything if he can prevent it, but maybe this was actually terrible idea.

“How do I look?” Magnus asks, just innocently enough that Alec _knows_ he knows exactly what effect he’s having, and he’s loving every second of it.

“Really good,” Alec blurts, his brain-to-mouth filter and whatever small scraps of wit he has at his disposal fully incapacitated by… Jesus, at least they’re sitting side by side. If he could see Magnus from the back, actually _see_ ‘Lightwood’ stretching across his shoulders, he — that might be it for him, honestly. Rest in peace Alexander Gideon Lightwood, beloved brother and son, taken out in his prime because his boyfriend is actually the single most attractive person in, possibly, the entire universe.

He blinks his way out of that train of thought to the sensation of Magnus brushing a cold, dry, slightly chapped — way more chapped than usual for Magnus, anyway; the weather must be messing with him — kiss to his cheek.

“Thank you,” Magnus says seriously. “I mean it. It was very thoughtful of you to offer.”

“Any time,” Alec replies, trying to pretend his voice isn’t a little bit hoarse, and he quickly takes a drink of his remaining hot chocolate to have something to do with his mouth that isn’t blurting out any of the many, many embarrassing thoughts racing through his brain while Magnus shifts around next to him on the cold bleachers, their arms brushing together from time to time.

They lapse back into that comfortable mostly-silence for a while, and a couple more performances go by before either of them says anything again. The hoodie _is_ kind of thin — Alec can see why Magnus was shivering — but it’s all right; it’s better than nothing, anyway, and he’d rather Magnus be warm.

“So,” Magnus says eventually, leaning back against the row of bleachers behind them, which is thankfully empty, and letting his head fall back against the metal with a quiet _thunk_. The band currently on the field is in the middle of their ballad, so he’s speaking kind of quietly, presumably out of a sense of respect, even though they aren’t really very good. “You got through that thing with your parents okay, right?”

Alec groans a little. He hadn’t ended up getting into any fights over the dinner table, so he supposes that counts as _okay_. “Yeah, I guess. I’m still…” He grimaces and takes a final swig of his hot chocolate, crumpling the empty cup in one hand and making a vague little gesture with it. “I’m still pretty pissed about it, but yeah. It’s over now, at least. If they stick to their track record, nothing like that will happen again until I’m already away at college, so it’s not my problem anymore.”

“You don’t exactly sound upset about that,” Magnus notes, speaking a little louder now as the band on the field crescendos into the end of their ballad.

“That’s because I’m not.” Alec tries not to sound too bitter or jaded about his parents most of the time, in part because he recognizes full well that they’re not actually — well, things could certainly be a lot worse. Sure, they’re not around very often, but they do occasionally make the effort, and they’re not actually neglectful; all of his and Max’s and Izzy’s needs are cared for, and Alec himself doesn’t exactly go out of his way to spend time with them when they _are_ at home, so the blame there isn’t all on Maryse and Robert. Still, he thinks he’s earned his right to be a little less than warm towards them, especially lately. “The only things they ever want to talk to us about are school and work anyway. I don’t think I’ve had a conversation with my dad that didn’t include some reference to what colleges I’m planning on applying to since I got to high school.”

Magnus hums wordlessly, finishing his own hot chocolate and setting the cup off to the side. There’s a moment of silence while they watch the band who’s performing transition into their closer, the tempo of the music increasing to almost double what it had been in the ballad. It certainly isn’t making their drill any cleaner; Alec actually winces a little at a couple of particularly messy sets. 

“Not to be your dad, but…” Magnus says, and Alec’s attention snaps to him — he’s way better to look at than the mess on the field, anyway. “What _are_ you planning on doing for college? I don’t think we’ve talked about that much at all.”

And just like that, Alec has to look away again, becuase he can’t quite bring himself to make eye contact anymore. He feels a flush rising in his cheeks, and hopes it’s not too obvious, because he can’t even really explain to _himself_ why that question makes him feel a little bit ashamed, so he definitely wouldn’t be able to explain it to Magnus if he asked.

“Well, uh, the plan is to try and go Ivy,” he says. “My parents both went to Columbia — that’s where they met — so that’s the top of the list.”

He’s not actually looking, so he can’t actually tell, but from what he can hear, he’d guess that Magnus’ eyebrows are sky high. “Studying what?”

“Um, pre-law.” 

“Huh.” A few beats of silence — well, silence from Magnus, anyway; the band on the field is approaching the end of their closer — and then, “That… Is not what I was expecting. It doesn’t really sound all that much like you, to be honest.”

Not for the first time, Alec finds himself wondering just where it is that Magnus learned to be so damn insightful. Is he like that with everyone, or is Alec just really easy to read, or what? 

“Well, it’s…” He manages a glance over at Magnus, who meets his gaze steadily, his face perfectly neutral. “I guess it’s not really…”

Magnus stays quiet for a second as he trails off, as though waiting for him to finish on his own, but then, when Alec bites his lip and looks away again, he prompts, “Is that, like, your parents’ thing, then?”

“Uh,” Alec says, all the while giving himself a strong mental kick in the head and wondering why the hell this is so difficult to admit to. So what if he’s following along with what his parents want for him? Plenty of people do that. There’s nothing _wrong_ with that. “I mean, yeah.”

“Okay,” Magnus replies easily; out of the corner of his eye, Alec watches as he sits up again, shoving off from the bleachers behind them to sit properly shoulder-to-shoulder with Alec, their arms brushing together in a line of comforting heat and pressure even through the double layer of thick fabric from their respective jackets. “But then what do _you_ want to do?”

Alec shifts uncomfortably place. While they’ve been talking, the band from before had finished — finally — and marched off the field; now, a new group is taking their place. It’s quite a small group; it must be from some tiny school. Alec takes a mental bet with himself over whether it’ll be a hyper-selective private school or some rural school from upstate. 

“I don’t know,” he says finally, staring down onto the field so that at least he has a plausible excuse to not be making eye contact. “I guess I never really thought about it.”

He feels his gut twist even as he says it, and in his head, a voice that sounds remarkably like Isabelle’s is already berating him. What is the point of saying something like that? Of _lying_ about something this stupid? This is Magnus he’s talking to — not his dad, not his fucking guidance counsellor, _Magnus_. And yet it feels easier to just deflect and obfuscate than to be just a little bit vulnerable and admit to wanting something he doesn’t think he can have.

“What, um, what about you?” he says, well aware that it’s probably obvious that he’s changing the subject, deflecting, getting the focus of the conversation off of himself as fast as possible. “Where are you applying to?”

“NYU is my first choice,” Magnus replies, and if he _did_ take note of Alec’s attempt to swing the conversation around to focus on him instead, he doesn’t say anything about it, at least. “I honestly don’t know what I want to study yet — well, okay, I know I want to study science, and something in the life sciences, probably, or maybe chemistry, but I don’t know exactly what yet. I’m going to wait and see where I get in, and then let that help make the decision, you know? Because different colleges are better at different things, and there’s this one biochem professor at NYU who’s doing this crazy research right now on signal transduction, so that might…”

Alec lets himself sink into the dual input of Magnus going off on a tangent about some science stuff that’s way, way above his pay grade on the one hand and the band on the field below, who have taken up their starting position and look due to start playing any minute now on the other. It’s not that he’s mad at Magnus for bringing up the subject of college, not really; it’s certainly a reasonable enough topic of conversation for any two high school seniors, and given that they’ve now been together for a couple of months, it’s honestly a little surprising, now that he thinks about it, that it hasn’t come up before now. But that doesn’t mean it’s something that he _wants_ to talk about, and it doesn’t mean that he doesn’t have a new knot of anxiety in his stomach that will probably take a good while to fade. To his father’s very frequently stated point, applications _are_ coming up due soon; he’s going to have to stop avoiding the issue sooner or later.

Still. For now, he still has the luxury of listening to his boyfriend rant about technical topics he doesn’t understand, while watching as a new performance unfolds on the football field below him. Alec gives in to the urge to lean just a little more heavily into Magnus’ side and tries his best to put the whole thing out of his mind, but he can’t quite shake the unease that’s now lingering just under the surface of his thoughts.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Magnus does some Nerd Sports. Alec does some PDA.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, everyone! I hope you had a good holiday season, and I hope the new year is going well for you so far! We're back in business, folks, after I possibly over-extended myself on secret santas and holiday exchanges and had to focus on pretty much nothing else for a few weeks. :'D 
> 
> As always, you can find me on [Twitter](http://twitter.com/akaparalian) or [Tumblr](http://floralegia.tumblr.com), and if you're so inclined, you can use the hashtag #LIAMK to livetweet/chat about this story on Twitter!

Alec asks Magnus to homecoming on a Saturday evening, after spending the entire day sweating through his clothes and feeling more than vaguely queasy.

They had a competition earlier in the day, and that had at least done a pretty good job of distracting him from any and all impending social anxiety — and thank God for that, because if he’d been distracted _from_ band rather than _by_ band and screwed up because of it and Herondale had somehow found out that it was over homecoming, he wouldn’t put it past her to somehow get the whole dance cancelled. But he doesn’t get distracted, and nothing bad happens; the band performs well, but not spectacularly, and then they all go home because it’s a small, close-to-home competition and awards are in the early afternoon, leaving them the whole rest of the day.

For most of the band, that means going home to do homework or laze around, or else going out with friends; for Magnus — and, unbeknownst to him, for Alec as well — that means Science Olympiad.

Isabelle had explained the whole thing to Alec when he’d gone to her for help, not that he hadn’t also picked up a lot of how SciOly works just from having lived with her for the past three years; at this time in the season, all the competitions they’re going to are invitationals, a little lower pressure than the events that will come in the spring, which is how Magnus is able to balance it with guard in the fall semester at all. This time, their team is hosting, and it’s a pretty small competition, so it actually starts around noon, which in turn means Magnus will be able to make it in time for his events in the late afternoon.

“Look,” Isabelle had said very frankly when she was giving Alec the breakdown, “SciOly might not be the most romantic thing in the world, and it’s definitely not a performing art. There aren’t usually… spectators. But Magnus loves it. It’s as important to him as color guard is. So this plan is good in two ways: it’ll _absolutely_ be a surprise, because people who aren’t on the team normally aren’t even _allowed_ to come, and he’ll be touched that you’re showing that you care about this part of him, even though it’s not _your_ interest.”

Alec had seen the logic there, and, anyway, it was a way better plan than anything he’d been able to come up with. He’d had to clear it with Magnus and Izzy’s coach, but luckily, Mr. Starkweather was kind of a friend of the family, and definitely knew Alec and Izzy well enough to cave to Izzy’s pleading, hopeful expression and Alec’s quiet explanation of why being able to do this was important to him. 

So: plan in place, permission obtained, Alec goes home after the band competition ends to change, and to pick up his supplies, and then he heads to school, on a Saturday, because he is going to make a grand romantic gesture, damn it. 

“Okay,” he mutters to himself, standing outside the main entrance to the Institute — a door which he’s passed through thousands of times by now, but which somehow has never seemed quite so intimidating, looming larger in front of his eyes than it ever did in any of his memories. “Okay, this is going to be fine. It’s _Magnus_.” 

Also, he’s a Lightwood, and Lightwoods don’t run from their problems, or something. At least, he’s pretty sure that’s what Izzy would say if she were out here with him, instead of inside the building, making sure Magnus is where Alec will be able to find him.

“Okay,” Alec says again, and pushes through the door.

The main entrance hall is relatively quiet, given that there’s an event ongoing; it’s certainly quiet compared to a normal school day, but Alec had obviously expected that, since it’s the weekend. He knows where to go — Izzy literally drew him a map, which was unnecessary and which had made him roll his eyes, but he knows she meant well, even though he’d have preferred it if she just _told_ him what room to go to, like a normal person — so he’s not too worried about navigating through the empty entrance hall back towards the science wing, where most of the events take place, apparently.

Sure enough, the closer he gets to the science wing, the more he sees students in clumps of two or three or more lingering outside of classrooms or walking purposefully from place to place; Alec mostly ignores them, heading straight for Mr. Starkweather’s room and trying not to let himself get distracted, because he knows that that will just make him even _more_ nervous. Somehow. If that’s even possible.

“Calm the fuck down,” he mutters to himself, and a girl passing by on the other side of the hall shoots him a knowing, sympathetic look.

“Good luck with your event,” she says, and Alec blinks at her, nodding a little awkwardly before quickening his steps to hurry away.

He doesn’t even _need_ good luck, he tells himself. He and Magnus are good, solid. And this may not be a flash mob — _God,_ is he glad Izzy talked him out of the flash mob — but it’s still a public declaration, something dramatic and romantic enough to hopefully make Magnus understand just how much Alec cares about him without making Alec burst into flames or keel over from pure embarrassment.

He stops just outside Mr. Starkweather’s classroom and takes a deep breath. Okay. He can do this.

Alec’s hands aren’t even shaking that much when he pulls his phone out of his pocket to text Isabelle to let her know he’s here, and for her to get started with her leg of the plan. Really. They’re not shaking at _all_.

“Hey, Magnus, you have some time before your next event, right?” he hears from inside the classroom, Izzy’s voice easily cutting through the air over the low chatter of students preparing for their events and relaxing together in between. 

“Yes,” Magnus responds, his voice a little lower and harder to catch, but just unmistakeable. “Why, what do you need?”

“I was just going to run down to the commons and get something out of the vending machine,” Izzy replies. “Want to come with?”

That’s Alec’s cue, and he turns and hustles down the hallway before he gets a chance to hear Magnus’ answer. Izzy doesn’t text him again, though, his phone sitting silently in his pocket, so he knows they must be on their way behind him.

The commons is a sort of mini-cafeteria — really just a couple of vending machines and a little cluster of tables — in the same general area as the science wing, mostly justified by the school as being a place where students who don't want to walk all the way to the other end of the school to get to the _actual_ cafeteria can at least find enough food to not starve. As expected, there are more SciOly kids here than Alec's otherwise seen just wandering in the halls, sitting at the tables or on the floor up against the walls, eating peanut butter crackers and Oreos and pretzels from the vending machines. There are enough of them, in fact, that it's relatively easy for Alec to hide, leaning up against a wall behind a group of girls from some Catholic school whose uniform Alec vaguely recognizes. He shouldn't be visible from the hallway, and with any luck, Magnus won't look at the Catholic school students closely enough to notice that Alec is lurking behind them, trying not to look too creepy but also trying not to be spotted.

Sure enough, he hears Izzy's voice echoing down the hallway soon enough — she's talking about her forensics event, which had been earlier this afternoon, if Alec remembers correctly, before Magnus would have gotten here from the band competition. He'll have to ask her about it himself later, because he absolutely isn't processing anything she's saying, just listening to the cadence of her voice and the occasional interjection from Magnus and watching the door, unblinking, as the sound of their voices gets closer and closer.

And then there they are; it's the first look Alec's gotten at Magnus since the competition, and it's incredible how different he looks. His guard uniform and makeup are striking, of course, and after the competition that afternoon on the bus ride home he'd looked adorably rumbled in leggings and an oversize tank top, his hair curling slightly against his forehead as he removed his makeup, but he's a vision, now. Alec hardly even sees Isabelle — hardly sees anything at all, really, except Magnus, who's in a casual but incredibly becoming black top, and tight red pants that make Alec's breath catch in his throat a little, with earrings and necklaces that he definitely wouldn't be allowed to wear during a band performance glittering against his skin. He's always beautiful, obviously — it's _Magnus_ — and maybe it's just how nervous Alec is, or what it is he knows that he's about to do, but it's hitting him extra hard right now, and he has to take another second or two to just take deep breaths and try to focus as Izzy and Magnus make their way towards the vending machines, still chattering away. He’s now doubly glad that he took the time to go home and clean up a little and change clothes before coming here, rather than racing over at fast as possible.

Magnus and Izzy still haven't noticed him — or Magnus hasn’t, anyway — which is the main thing, and which does thankfully give him a little time to regroup before he makes his move. Izzy tosses her hair to hide the fact that she sends a tiny, knowing smirk his way, and he scowls back at her, blushing. He'd like to see _her_ date someone who looks like Magnus and not be completely bowled over by it from time to time. 

That’s very much not the point, though, and he knows it; he can’t let himself get distracted and lose his chance, because if there was ever a moment, this is it. Magnus is turned fully away from him, arguing with Izzy about what to get out of the vending machine, and Alec steps out from behind the cover of the Catholic girls, making his way towards the center of the room before drawing to a stop, his hands clenching into fists at his sides.

He slowly, carefully unclenches them, casts a nervous glance around the room — no one’s paying attention to him yet, but he’s pretty certain that that’s about to change — and then says, “Magnus?”

Magnus jumps practically a foot in the air before whipping around so quickly that he half-stumbles, and even through the general haze of nervousness, Alec has to bite his lip against a smile. Izzy looks amused, too, as she turns around in a much slower and more controlled fashion, given that _she_ ’s been expecting this.

“Alec!” Magnus cries, his whole face brightening up with an incredible grin as he crosses the distance between them, weaving around the strangers who are starting to pull back and give them a little bit of space, maybe sensing from the way Magnus immediately goes in for a cheek-kiss hello and from how nervous Alec doubtlessly looks that something is about to happen, here. “What are you doing here?”

“Well, I know SciOly isn’t really a spectator sport,” Alec begins, only stumbling over his words a little, and Magnus laughs, reaching out to squeeze his hand. He looks puzzled, but overjoyed, and Alec can’t deny that it’s helping a little, to see how happy he is just to see Alec here, not even knowing — at least, Alec sure hopes not, because if he knows then it’s not much of a surprise — what Alec’s hear to ask him. “But, uh, I wanted to come cheer you on. Don’t worry,” he adds, “I cleared it with Mr. Starkweather, and everything.”

“Oh, Alec,” Magnus says — sighs, really, squeezing Alec’s hand again. “I mean, it’ll probably be pretty boring for you, but I can’t pretend I’m not incredibly touched that you’re here. This is so sweet of you.”

_Now_ , Isabelle mouths immediately, from behind Magnus’ shoulder; Alec barely stops himself from rolling his eyes at her, which wouldn’t exactly be appropriate for this moment. He doesn’t need _that_ much help; he’s not going to miss a cue that obvious, thanks.

“There’s something else, too,” he says, and Magnus blinks at him, tilting his head a little bit in obvious curiosity and confusion. His whole face goes a little slack in surprise, though, when Alec reaches into his inside jacket pocket and pulls out a boutonnière (which is, luckily, not even that squished), his eyes lighting up as his mouth drops open.

The boutonnière is a deep red carnation set against a spray of baby’s breath — Isabelle had helped him pick the flower, and insisted that a red rose was more of a _prom_ flower, whereas carnations were more appropriate for homecoming, which Alec had thought was a little ridiculous, but gone along with anyway, because he came to accept long, long ago that her advice about that kind of thing is generally pretty correct — and Alec’s hand trembles as he holds it out. 

“I was wondering if you wanted to go to homecoming with me,” he says — all in one breath, but still more or less discernible. Magnus doesn’t seem to have any trouble understanding him, at any rate, because he leaps forward to pull Alec in for a much more thorough kiss than before, crushing the flowers between them.

“Absolutely,” he says fervently as soon as he pulls back for air, while Alec is still reeling. A few of the kids around them are clapping or wolf-whistling, and behind Magnus, Isabelle is beaming like _she’s_ the one who just got asked, her hands clasped together in front of her in triumph. “I can’t believe you showed up _here_ to ask me, Alec, you are —” He struggles for words, waving a hand absently even as the other comes to settle on Alec’s chest.

“Ridiculous?” Alec suggests, grinning a little, and Magnus swats him with the gesticulating hand.

“I was thinking more like _wonderful_ ,” he corrects with a mock glare. Then he pauses for a moment, his face clouding over a little as a thought evidently strikes him. He taps absently on Alec’s chest with his fingers and says, “What about your parents, though?”

Alec takes a deep breath. Isabelle had asked the same question, less to dissuade him and more to check that he’d thought about it, and he’d obsessed about it for a little while himself. “Hanging out” with Magnus when they were really going on dates was one thing, especially because more than half the time his parents didn’t even know about it; going to the homecoming dance with him was a little different. If they asked, he wouldn’t want to lie and say he wasn’t going, but if they asked if he was going _alone_ , or with a girl, he didn’t want to lie about that, either.

He’s had a lot of time to consider it between first realizing that he needs to ask Magnus to the dance and this moment, though, so he’s mostly confident in his answer when he shrugs and says, “What about them?” Magnus looks doubtful and starts to open his mouth, so Alec adds, “What they don’t know won’t hurt them. It’s not like they keep up with school events.”

Magnus searches his face, standing there quietly for a moment with his lips pressed together, his eyes tracking over Alec’s expression thoroughly. He seems satisfied with what he finds, and he nods slowly, the smile taking over his face again.

“I can’t even tell you how excited I am,” he says, and Alec can’t help but laugh, a little, smiling so hard it hurts his cheek.

“Are you really that surprised that I asked?” he says, settling a hand at Magnus’ waist. “We’ve been dating for a while now.”

“I didn’t want to assume,” Magnus replies, leaning into his grip and swaying a little. “It’s a busy time — isn’t it the same weekend as regionals? And I didn’t think school dances were really your kind of thing.”

They aren’t. They really aren’t. And Magnus is right about the date, too; the homecoming game and dance are the same weekend as the regional marching competition, and that’s going to be hell and a half to get through. But he thinks about spending the night with Magnus, laughing and dancing and having a good time together, and his heart beats faster.

He ducks his head a little, meeting Magnus’ eyes, and he says, “You’re my kind of thing, though.”

“Awww,” someone says from behind him, half-catcall, and Alec blushes and stiffens, realizing all over again that they’re surrounded by strangers. Complete nerds, granted, not exactly _intimidating_ strangers, especially not when you are yourself a nerd and spend as much time around other nerds as Alec does, but still. This is really pretty extreme PDA by his standards, what with the way he’s holding on to Magnus’ waist and the fact that they’ve leaned in closer and closer together as they talk. Magnus seems to get it, and steps back a little, putting a little space and air between them; Alec’s hands drop back down to his sides. Magnus grabs the boutonnière, though, and cheerfully pins it to his shirt, which makes Alec flush a little with pleased embarrassment.

“Are you planning to stick around?” Magnus asks, and Izzy walks a little closer to stand next to them, apparently sensing that the moment is at least mostly over. 

Alec nods. “I mean, like I said, I got permission from Mr. Starkweather to hang out with the team. I thought I’d — I know you guys will be busy, but I’d rather be here with you than at home texting you, you know?”

Magnus’ answering smile is blinding. “Oh, I definitely know.” Very briefly, he closes the space between them again to lean in for another quick kiss, as though he can’t help himself. “Thank you. Not just for the invitation to homecoming — for coming to see me at all. I know Starkweather isn’t as intimidating as Ms. Herondale, but he’s still not exactly a fluffy bunny, and letting someone hang out with the team during a competition isn’t the kind of thing he’d usually agree to. So thank you for doing whatever it is you had to do to be here.”

Alec thinks about explaining that Starkweather knows his parents, that Izzy had helped him plan this whole afternoon, that he’d been terrified out of his mind — he thinks about undermining what Magnus is saying in a million different ways, telling him that his thanks aren’t necessary. But — well, Magnus looks so _happy_ , and Alec _is_ outside of his comfort zone right now, and is it really the worst thing in the world for his boyfriend to be grateful for something he’s done, and for him to take pride in having made Magnus happy?

So instead of saying any of the things the little voice of insecurity in his head is telling him to say, he just smiles and says, “You’re welcome. I’m happy this all worked out, and I could be here with you, and... I’m just happy, I guess.”

“I know exactly what you mean,” Magnus agrees, linking their arms together. “Now, as happy as I am to see you, we should get back to the room so that Isabelle and I can prepare for our events.”

“I can quiz you,” Alec volunteers, falling into step beside Magnus as they make their way back out to the hall. Isabelle makes an approving sound behind him, and walks on Alec’s other side, brushing her arm against his companionably.

“You really are the best boyfriend,” Magnus sighs, and he sounds kind of like he’s teasing, but also kind of like he’s not. Either way, it makes Alec blush straight to the tips of his ears.

“I try,” is all he says, and follows Magnus down the hall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dark red/crimson carnations represent deep love and affection. Baby's breath is a very standard filler, but it also symbolizes everlasting love. :^) Alec would probably be a little bit mortified at this stage if he knew either of those things, though.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alec makes some eggs, has a mild freak-out, and fails to realize that his life is, in fact, a high school soap opera.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back again, with much less of a wait this time! I think I'm going to try to settle back into a biweekly update schedule and see how that goes; I've got a lot of other things in the fire right now, between exchanges, bangs, bingos, and just regular ol' non-event-related fic, but I think I should be able to manage biweekly fairly well, assuming everything else holds steady. Famous last words, I know, but I'm going to try!
> 
> Big shout out to [Elle](http://archiveofourown.org/users/somelittleinfamy) for help with guard info, seeing as all of mine is secondhand! :'D I totally didn't know that the flags were weighted. Y'all, the flags are WEIGHTED!

Sunday morning dawns bright and cold, though Alec doesn’t see it; he sleeps until well past ten, by which time the sun streaming in through his bedroom window has warmed the room even though it’s still a bit chilly outside. He stumbles out of bed, making his way downstairs while he’s still rubbing sleep from his eyes. He had ended up staying pretty late at the school, keeping Izzy and Magnus company all the way through the competition and awards, and then driving Magnus home afterwards. The house had been dark and quiet when he arrived back, even Isabelle having beaten him home and gone to bed. It’s sunny and quiet now, with a fall morning just outside the windows that looks lovely and inviting. He’s just contemplating going for a run later when he walks into the kitchen to find his mother sitting at the table.

Maryse is surrounded by a spray of legal pads, thick packets of documents, and sticky notes; she has her laptop in front of her and a half-empty cup of coffee off to one side. She looks like she’s been at the table for hours, working hard. As changes of scenery from her office go, Alec supposes the kitchen table is a great option — there’s plenty of space to spread out, and the coffee maker is _right_ there. She barely looks up when Alec enters the room, but even as her fingers fly over the keyboard in front of her, she murmurs, “Good morning.”

“Good morning,” Alec replies, blinking at her, and then, deciding not to comment, because it’s not like this is _that_ weird, goes to get a skillet out of the cabinet to make eggs.

He cooks his breakfast in silence, the tapping and clacking of keys and occasional pen-scratching coming from his mother the only counterpoint to the crack of eggshells and the gentle sound the food makes as it cooks. He stands in front of the fridge, contemplating its contents for a long seconds, and eventually returns with spinach and cheese and some leftover salsa, all of which he throws into the pan, mentally shrugging. Alec wouldn’t exactly describe himself as a great cook — though he’s better than Izzy — but for a teenage boy, he likes to think he does pretty well, and at the _very_ least, he knows how to dress up scrambled eggs a little bit. 

Once the eggs are done, Alec stands there, plate in hand, dithering on what he should do — if he should go over and sit at the table, or if instead he should take his breakfast upstairs to his room to avoid bothering Maryse. Before he’s made up his mind, though, Maryse wordlessly shoves some of her papers to the side to make room for him, so, figuring that’s as clear a sign as he’s going to get, he shrugs a little to himself and crosses the room to sit down next to her.

“Oh,” Maryse says, after about of minute of semi-awkward silence where Alec eats and she keeps working. She reaches across the table for her coffee mug and looks up at him properly for the first time since he came into the kitchen, smiling a little over the rim of the mug. “I wanted to ask you about something.”

Alec blinks, a forkful of eggs halfway to his mouth. “...what?”

“Well, I heard the homecoming dance at your school is coming up soon,” she says, and Alec almost misses the end of the sentence over the sudden roaring of blood in his ears. 

“Uh,” he croaks, over an ongoing mental litany of _shit shit shit_. “Yeah?”

“I was just wondering if you were planning on taking anyone,” Maryse continues, glancing back down at her laptop and clicking on something absently. “It _is_ your senior year.”

“Right,” Alec says, desperately trying to figure out a way to deflect the question. He doesn’t want to say, _No, I’m not taking anyone,_ but he doesn’t want to have to explain that he’s taking Magnus, either. He’s not _ready_ for that yet. Goddammit, this wasn’t supposed to be a problem; there’s no way Maryse should even _know_ about homecoming. “How’d, uh,” he says, “how’d you even hear about it?”

“Oh, a long-term client brought it up — Jean Belcourt, I think you met him when you were younger,” Maryse replies easily. She takes a long sip of coffee, then adds, “His daughter goes to your school.”

The instant she said the name Belcourt, Alec was suspicious, and that seals the deal. It’s Camille — it has to be. But surely it’s just a coincidence that she’s ultimately responsible for Maryse asking this question. Even for her, this would be an insane level of manipulation. It can’t possibly be intentional. And even if it is — even if this _is_ some sort of attempt to fuck with him — it seems poorly done. He kind of thought Camille was a little more concrete with her threats, rather than this seven-levels-deep nonsense.

“Oh, uh, well,” Alec says, “I know who you mean, I think, but I don’t know her that well.” 

“Hm,” is all Maryse has to say in response. Her laptop dings, and her attention turns back to the screen; she’s already typing again by the time she adds, “Well, let me know if you do ask a girl. I’m sure your father and I would love to see some pictures.”

“Sure,” Alec croaks, and starts shovelling eggs into his mouth as quickly as possible. 

He escapes as fast as he can, rinsing his plate and all but flinging it into the dishwasher and then racing up the stairs to bang on Izzy’s door. “Isabelle!” he hisses, but there’s no response; when he finally caves and cracks the door open, the room is empty. Shit. He power walks to his own room instead, throwing himself onto the bed and reaching for his phone, which is still charging on the bedside table.

_Where are you???_ he texts Izzy, staring at the phone with narrowed eyebrows until he sees that she’s read it.

_Out w Maia, why?_

He contemplates frantically typing out the whole thing, but he’d much rather call her and talk about it out loud, which he can’t do if she’s out with someone. Besides, the longer he sits here in his room, the farther he gets from the conversation with Maryse, the more he thinks he’s overreacting. It had been fine, hadn’t it? He’d dodged actually answering the question, and he doubts she’s going to ask again. And the thing with Camille is _probably_ a coincidence. Probably. Alec groans, running a hand over his face, and says, _Nvm, tell you later._

He contemplates texting Magnus, too, but that really _does_ seem like an overreaction, especially because Magnus had been the one to bring up the risk of Alec’s parents asking about this exact thing, and Alec had been the one to brush that off. Without concrete proof that there’s something going on with Camille, or that his mom is going to make this into an actual issue, there’s no need to tell Magnus about it, at least not right away. He’ll let himself cool down first, and surely it will seem like a much smaller thing after that. Hell, after a good night’s sleep, it’ll probably seem like nothing at all tomorrow.

—

“Is this your MO,” Alec asks Camille flatly, arms crossed across his chest, “or is it just a coincidence?”

She stands there, blocking his way into the band hall before rehearsal. _Again_. This time, at least, she’s not flanked by sidekicks, but that’s about the only difference. He’s not sure what’s more surprising: that, apparently, she actually _had_ intentionally clued Maryse in about homecoming — he’s not sure why else she’d choose to do this _now_ — or that she’s going for the exact same confrontation as before.

“Cute,” she says, smiling at him like a quick burst of acid. “I just wanted to say I think it’s _adorable_ that you asked Magus to hoco.” 

She actually says “hoco,” out loud, which makes Alec dislike her even more than he had seconds previously, which is really a pretty impressive feat. Then she pauses for a moment, and, if possible, her smile sharpens yet further before she adds, “Were your _parents_ happy?”

The emphasis she places on the word leaves no room for doubt, and Alec feels his eyebrows climb halfway up his forehead. 

“What’s your point?” he asks.

“No point,” Camille replies smoothly. She flicks her wrist a little, brushing an imperceptible wrinkle out of her skirt. “I just wanted to share the love. I’m impressed you had the guts to do something so public,” she adds, “though in my experience, Magnus usually prefers more flair.”

Alec snorts. He’d been so freaked out yesterday morning, and yet now, just one day later, actually looking Camille in the face, it seems so much more petty. Even if she flat-out told Maryse that he and Magnus were dating, he realizes, would that really be the end of the world? Sure, he’s not ready to come out to his parents yet, but it’s going to happen _someday_. At least if it was Camille’s doing, he wouldn’t have to get the words out on his own.

“I trust Magnus to tell me what he likes, thanks,” Alec says shortly, glaring at her and crossing his arms. “And even if I didn’t trust _him_ , I definitely wouldn’t trust _you._ ”

“Your choice,” Camille replies, smiling sugar-sweetly and tilting her head to the side, brows raised. “I’m just trying to help.”

“Was that all?” Alec says. “I have rehearsal.”

“That’s all,” Camille says, but she doesn’t move, as though waiting for him to step aside. Alec doesn’t budge, though, standing there with his arms crossed, and eventually she gives in, stepping around him herself to make her way down the hall and out of sight. It’s a tiny, inconsequential victory, but it feels like an achievement all the same, and Alec watches her go, frowning, until she’s completely disappeared, only then glancing at the clock hanging on the opposite wall and realizing that he’s about to be late if he doesn’t hurry.

Of course, with the rush to get into the band hall, grab his things, and then get out onto the field, he doesn’t exactly have a chance to talk to Magnus. The best he manages is a glance across the field at Magnus leading the guard through warm-ups and stretches before Herondale calls the band to order.

—

Sprinting to the band hall after rehearsal ends doesn’t immediately turn up Magnus; Alec searches the hallways outside, the uniform room, several practice rooms, and even the bathroom down the hall before he realizes that, in his panic, he’s forgotten to look in the guard room.

Sure enough, there’s Magnus, with his back to the door, carefully checking over the weights on the practice poles one by one and then setting them back in the rack. He’s the only one in the room; everyone else must have already left while Alec was racing around looking everywhere but the single most obvious place, his head buzzing with half a dozen vague anxieties and, also, with the guilty remembrance that Magnus had been the one who’d initially thought that Alec’s parents might pose a problem, and Alec, for once in his life, had brushed that off. _Look how_ that _turned out_ , he thinks to himself, then gently raps his knuckles against the doorframe.

Magnus glances over his shoulder, then spins around, still holding onto the flag he’d been weighting, a wide grin splitting his face. “Alec!”

“Hey,” Alec replies, smiling back at him despite himself. “You know how a little while ago, you were looking for me at lunch, and you looked for me everywhere but the most obvious place? I just did the same thing.”

“See! It’s an easy mistake to make,” Magnus says, laughing, and when Alec steps properly into the room, shutting the door behind him with a soft _click_ , he sets down the flag he’d been holding and closes the distance between them, easily sliding his arms around Alec’s neck to give him a quick hug hello, and then stepping back only a little bit, lingering well within Alec’s personal bubble. “Any particular reason you were looking for me, or just to say hi?”

Alec sighs, one corner of his lips quirking up in a self-deprecating half-smile. “Remember when you asked if my parents would freak out over me asking you to homecoming and I said, ‘What they don’t know won’t hurt them’?”

“Uh-oh,” Magnus says, his brows knitting in a frown.

“Yeah,” Alec agrees, then pauses, biting his lip. The next part is the bit that actually sounds kind of insane. “I… I think Camille is threatening to out me to my parents. In, like, the most roundabout way possible.”

Whatever Magnus had been expecting, it clearly wasn’t that. He blinks rapidly, shakes his head a little, and after a long moment, he says, “What?” almost blandly.

“Well, yesterday morning my mom told me that a colleague had mentioned homecoming to her, since his daughter goes to this school,” Alec explains quickly, trying to give Magnus as little time as possible to decide that he’s gone around the bend. “And then she said his name was Belcourt, and I’m pretty sure Camille is the only Belcourt at NYIAS. And then before rehearsal just now —”

“Oh my God, did she try to start shit with you _again?!”_ Magnus interrupts, his face gone stormy. Alec shrugs and rocks his hand side to side in a ‘so-so’ motion.

“I mean, yes, but in the vaguest possible terms,” he replies. “I guess asking me if my parents are happy that I asked you to the dance is where we’re at in terms of threats now.”

Alec’s been trying to convince himself not to take it _that_ seriously — sure, Camille might be a piece of work, but this is real life, not an episode of Degrassi; how much harm can she possibly do to him with vague implications about his parents? But Magnus is frowning again, and he looks like he’s treating this with way more gravity than Alec had been. 

“I can’t believe her,” he fumes, sounding angry enough that Alec holds up his hands placatingly. 

“I don’t know,” he says, trying to sound soothing, “I think she’s bluffing. I mean, come on. I don’t think her dad is actually going to pass along gossip about us to my mom. She’s using that connection to my parents as a threat, but she’s delusional.”

That seems to mollify Magnus a little bit, though he’s still visibly upset. “If you say so,” he replies somewhat dubiously, grimacing. Then he pauses, looks up at Alec for a moment thoughtfully, and his face softens. His shoulders slump and he lets out a soft breath before he adds, “No matter what, though, I’m still glad that you asked me.”

Alec doesn’t even try to fight the smile that takes over his entire face. “Me, too.”

Magnus shifts slightly, and their arms brush, and suddenly it strikes Alec, staring down into his face and mirroring his warm expression, that everyone else is mostly gone. Alec had spent so long tearing around looking for Magnus after practice, and Magnus had stayed late enough to do maintenance on the flags, that the whole band hall is empty outside the window, not just the guard room.

Alec’s gaze out the little window in the door to the empty band hall must not go unnoticed; Magnus makes a quiet, amused noise, and when Alec turns back to look at him, his face is carefully blank.

“You know,” he says mildly, “we’ve done practice rooms, the uniform room, the bus… but I’ve never kissed you in the guard room.” 

Alec grins down at him, trying not to mind the blush that he can feel creeping down the back of his neck and instead focusing on the way Magnus’ eyes are shining and that he’s still in his workout gear: a loose-fitting tank top which shows nearly half his chest on the sides and leggings that fit like a second skin, both of which Alec is, of course, firmly in favor of.

“Yeah?” he says, his voice dropping low as he leans in a little closer to Magnus, close enough that he can feel the warmth radiating from him and hear the way his breath hitches as Alec cages him in up against the flag rack. “Well, we might as well go for the complete set.”

“You read my mind,” Magnus whispers back to him, laughing, and the smile on his face as his eyes flutter shut and he leans up and into the kiss is the last thing Alec sees before his own eyes slide closed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Your life may not be Degrassi, Alec, but it _is_ fanfiction.

**Author's Note:**

> Come hang out with me on [Tumblr](http://floralegia.tumblr.com) or Twitter!


End file.
